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Wave Trawling
Where the tide licks a sandy beach
a running ripple
thins to wash a ring of rounded pebbles -
there, a muddy ribbon
trickles through brine rinsed trinkets
surged up as a slosh of time
from the oceans depth.
Here be the bones of seahorse dragons,
and the beached and bloated
pods of marine algae,
Fractured mollusk shells splinter,
carapace and claws swell
in a mutual dross,
a trawled-up flotsam
tossed upon
low spin drifting waves.
A sculptured driftwood
expressed into mythic forms
anchors its art where the wind combs.
Sometimes coins, both new and old, surface
to be pocketed once more.
Obscure metallic treasures knuckle
and poke-mark the shoreside
with their unanswered questions.
I walk an ankle-deep dawn light
shipwrecked on my own shores edge.
A seagull's homeless cry
keeps me fishing for new depths.
Copyright ©
Eric Ashford
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