Seaweed

All along the bent and angling coast seaweed strands in sunken coves abandon their beached forms from wave to wave I always chase after them their strewn bobbing heads roll as dead bodies from wave to wave What seaweed does not hide short stories of unknown depths? submarine worlds where time itself folds into layered shelves Under every rubbery leaf striped then strung to tether in running bands veins on my father's arm long long ago An unseen drift marks the sea's closing line to leeward straits where I now stand feet in the sodden growth soil hand against the shaded bulb A frothing whirlpool gathers all the seaweed roped and braided in dulsing patterns soft crests falling soundless into outstretched arms then slap against the burying stone