After the Storm

motion-1641979_1280Foam glides across the battered beach.
Weightless, fast-no dunes to
snag on. Now over a board
leaving nails bearded white–
the storm’s after
whisper.

Erosion posts (splinter heavy)
some snapped and
leaning. Waves-sea’s wash
cycle switched
from roll to churn.
Wind spins carry

hints of fall, pushing swash
zone relics from their
backsides. Rushing
gulls through their
salty assessments.
Where

did you go, fitful storm? Your
energy–those forceful
thrusts and gusts
just echoes now.
The marsh–a
tangle.

Birds, once dignified-long-
necked, erect, swoop
and scurry, frantic in
your wake. The
reassembly of
tattered nests,

rooted bluff nooks, and
broken dock hollows.
Ankles muddy,
feathers askew
Egret hunts and
pecks along

the new topography. The
shore–storm worn,
forever changed.
Claw first, Fiddlers
test the air
peeking out

their tiny mud cubbies.
Dare we reconvene?
They ask aloud.
Dare we croak,
And squawk,
And fiddle

Even when we know more
Rains will come to
wash away our
cradle? To carve
new vacancies
In our landscape?

Yes!-a symphony of yes.
Our voices defy these
taunting winds. With
claws, beaks and
fins, we’ll climb
the scaffolding

Again and again and
again.

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