It is more than storms and tide that
We mourn this fall

The detritus of a summer hurricane
Still lies wallowing on
A beach nearby and we
Can visit if you wish
And take photographs
Of the moldering wood and seaweed

And note, in the cocoon of silent
Irony that envelops us both,
That once we were as strong
As that mansion whose stilts
Finally crumbled in the waves
And took the house down with it

You will point to whelks and fiddler crabs
On the sanded ruins
That someone once called a beach
Meanwhile, I will just look out to sea
And note, to myself,
How some things never change

But when we stare past
The pier to boats foundering
Out beyond the breakwater,
Neither of us will pretend
To miss the metaphor this time.

10/09/2011

Posted on 10/09/2011
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