High Atlantic Tide
by Sondra Ball
high Atlantic tide
deserted still marina
moorings barely stir
water clucking against boards
of abandoned fishing boats
perfected vision
in this clear early dawn light
mussel minarets
grow on wooden piles, strong walls,
green bottle glass, shell debris
the sky and ocean
mirrors of one another
far horizon blurred
no shapes move on the channel
none but mine on the thin beach
volume 11(5)
This poem is copyright © 2007,
Sondra Ball, all rights reserved.
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