LPiA-25 Nov. 16

[sun_sparks]

Unalysis


Don’t be so analytical, my friend.
A beach has width and length, but which is which?
To walk from cliff to tide’s not end to end,
but neither is from pier to next boat-hitch.
Beach shrinks and waxes as the arching Moon
conducts crescendos, rising, rolling surf.
Too late we come and beach has drowned; too soon,
and Ocean has left only shingled turf.
Come, walk with me, you undistinguished man!
Feel granulated time grit in-between
your crabby toes, breathe salt without a plan.
Be neither wise nor fool, fish-fouled nor clean.

I hope the critique rules don't apply here, but I absolutely adore this poem! "granulated time grit in-between / your crabby toes" - genius!