Shore

Waves grind across the continental shelf,
Enormous in their long, well-muscled swells;
I know their sweaty smells of staling spray
And fishy sand; and o, all by myself
I've heard the tide tell what it always tells:
Some things wash up and others wash away.

Marcus Bales

If you've any comments on this poem, Marcus Bales would be pleased to hear from you.

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