You are busy
polishing cabochons
that don’t need it,
busy rewriting the broken
music of sea shells
cracked underfoot.
Skyward, gulls scream
for pity while the sun
shimmies behind cloth clouds
no different than a magician
making fortune disappear.
The sand dunes buckle decisively,
their skin peeling free and sticking
to your soles like cake batter,
each grain a speck
of unplucked infinity.
On these very beaches,
which the waves have trampled for eons,
life stirs in the flotsam,
driftwood breastbones buried
at half-mast under each breached swell,
awaiting rescue and release
much like trapped breath or a muffled sigh.
Can you hear it?
Did you even notice?

Len Kuntz is a writer from Washington State and the author of four books, most recently the story collection, This is Why I Need You, out now from Ravenna Press. You can find more of his writing at https://lenkuntz.blogspot.com.

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to Flotsam

  1. abykittiwakewrites says:

    So beautiful.

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