Low tide
Wind on tide,
shifting and sorting
shingle on strand
Sand shifts, silt sails,
each to its site
sieved to its size
Tide retreats, leaves
trophies of detritus
in honor of Nike
Idling next come couples
picking pebbles skipped
the day before
Fat wood, bull like
lines the littoral pushed
not yet pulled again adrift
Ice recedes ten thousand years
to come again in another ten
or not at all
Jumbled, fumbled, abraded,
at every point and twice
a day, we live ashore
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