LOOKING INTO THE SEA
It is such a large thing, shoreline
like a tense muscle,
that he cannot concentrate on this
small bit here.
He knows how steadily it moves,
curled and splayed
into milky flats beyond this surf,
its dizzy swell
offensive. He trusts rigid
things better: walls, cars, structures
that do not reach out in random
No one behind him sees what is here:
driftwood and water
shrugging away, a relentless much
He knows here in the shallows
riptides scoop the shore clean,
but out there
solidity gyres down into a forgotten
He hates the sea not because it collects
but because it never suffers.
What has the ocean given up?
It eats up coastline, steals away
and only offers up those bits we
don't want back:
whale bones and shells, cold remnants
He knows a hand
reached out for him,
but he cannot remember what his
boy was wearing.
© by Nathan S. Jones