May
all the devil’s pocketbooks on the beach
are dried up.
skate’s egg cases.
bubbles in moist sand:
form tickles
drifting shards of shell,
waves sprit.
in the morning
crab tracks, endless scores,
fan our from scattered dens.
the ocean paints the beach.
the hook pops the worm,
and blood oozes red.
as I cast, the pier rolls
with the waves.
what hungry creatures fish
must be!
along highways, and at the end
of coves, graveyards bordered
by cinder blocks shift.
oak shrubs cling to leeward side
of dunes stretching along the narrow
ridge of sand marking the outer banks.
the shed of white on the breaking wave.
next to naked we attack,
split waves, delve into
the constant surface. the skin
rebuffs the charge of brine,
the smash of surf, the soles
of feet sustain the scrape
and chaw of shell and sand.
wind swept grass seeps sand.
breathless and tireless, the child
with bright strawberry hair
runs and avoids horseshoe crabs,
skates, a bluefish, sponges, baby sharks,
sea trout and the nets drug
onto the shore by “Big Daddy’s”
pickup and “Big Mama’s” jeep.
carving the coast
a current flows through sand,
surfaces and waves sand away.
sea oats cling to the dune,
the dune clings to them.
dolphins cruise just beyond
the wave churned waters.
do they break
the surface to see the shore?
the large waves dominate me,
toss me onto the sand,
the weight of a planet.
the shore picks up the waves.
a southerly pushes them over sideways.
the netted creature
kicks a while, then
waits release
as skates flip
sponges lie.
the soft gray broken by the gull’s call.
Copyright James Phoenix 2017
updated 5/7/2017