SCRAPING THE HULL

 

IMG_1429

When the roar of distant shore

Ceases to please this pale frame

The will of Life will have bore

Down, erasing one lettered name.

 

What is is stripped away to the core

And, at once, is what once came.

As the tide widens its shore

Nothing remains the same.

 

No niche of beach, no floor

Of sand, no one fine grain

Would deny Nature’s check and chore

On her wild, weak, or tame.

 

Blown open is her rumored door

Whose inner room, quite plain,

Is full of breath that breathes no more,

That breathes no more with blame.

 

The tide will rise again at four—

The shore cleared of that unclaimed.

Just out of reach, this Spirit will soar

And soar beyond all pain.
[From the Maine series]

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s