Ohio Sea Song
Where the groundhog has chewed the chain link
I slip under,
then over the blacktop
through a brittle-boned hedge,
and I am there where geese sail
a puddle-deep fog.
I taste the sea in its brine-washed spittle.
Ohio ripples with oceanic currents.
The Atlantic gets swept up on gull wings.
Surf pours West for hundreds of miles,
then it flops down.
The sky has fish-eyes in it.
Between the factory and the wind-broken woods,
whales the size of gnats skim surface water.
A vocal rain shatters mist into words,
songs mermaids trawl for and catch
as they plunge through sodden turnpikes,
or pause to comb their hair
at the wind-swept rest stops
along Interstate 75.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2020
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