Seiche

 

Some days not every one,

I run to the beach where I gather,

big dark rocks–

ones I can lug or roll,

to the site of my cryptic SOS.

 

A  seagull’s footprints

around a dead fish,

thrown up by yesterday’s storm,

make me wonder,

“Why so weak?  Were you old?”

 

I watch the lake’s quiet seiche,

The bathtub is tilted.

This end is up to my neck,

and the bird floats by waiting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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6 thoughts on “Seiche

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