The waves are in slow retreat, leaving almost straight and matted tide lines of marine deposits, carried from their distant depths. I pick through them, like remnants in a haberdashery store. At first, there's nothing much of note until the eyes acclimatize to broken claws and shells with piercings, marbled stones that sparkle or those with finger hugging shapes. I've found a little petrified Buddha and popped him in my pocket. It does not go unnoticed. From their dense huddles, gulls peer side-eyed, attention on the water. It would be nice to close the gap between us, to stand momentarily with them and stare westward out to sea. But at the one-step-too-near approach, they screech and wheel in loud claps of feather to air departures. I'm struck by the triangulation of elements; the elementary flight over the rolling mass of water and I, feet in the sand, stranded as seaweed.
fishwives waving long goodbyes
all drawn by the moon
Dusting off a haibun from the Drafts folder for some samplings of Poetry Pantry