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  • The Last Godwits

    On a driftwood stump with a gorgon head and spider stare,
    I sit and gaze toward the edge of the earth, the place
    where the ocean pours and pours into space, like a thousand
    Niagaras, its thunder clearly audible in a wisp of onshore wind.
    A breeze lifts a whisper of wind-borne sand
    that funnels into cosmic patterns, lacy
    and lucid over the sleeping shore. The last godwits
    and sandpipers run on invisible legs and disappear
    along the darkening and merging edge of sand and sea.
    A scent of sage and kelp drift from the waves.
    As margins of clouds glow gold and begin to flame,
    an unmanned sailboat drifts toward shore, and I wade
    out to meet it, knowing it has come to carry me out.
  • image: Posted by Pete at the Cowbirder's Poetry and Flash Fiction Group #7 on Facebook. I added the boat.

    poem: Mary Stebbins Taitt, for Pete and Gail
    20150708-1109-1st draft
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