Shoreline

The long drawl of the tide scrapes on the shingle

A wave picks at the pier's rotting ribs and teeth


There is a strut of ragged wood that

Ants have hollowed like woodpeckers

Left bloodless on the sand


A broken blue buoy

Hanging in a skein of broken nets


And one weary afternoon fisherman who

Paints with his slow brush


A green and red guardian

For the hull of his boat

Robert James Berry