the smooth white belly
of a washed-up shark
exposed and torn
the light of this day peels back
and ebbs away with the tide
the very rocks
that shouldered
froth and spray
loom above the water they
and their jagged shadows
ripples everywhere
in the fine sand
repeated ripples
that echo a last
wave’s retreat
on the saw-like
teeth of the shark
on the gaping mouth
without smile or grimace
a little lingering light
going barefoot going ghostly over the sand after the heat of yet another brittle day the dark draws near cool and clinging in one whispered breath the Pacific’s burden of brine is brooding but familiar and on the winding coast road headlights behind us now and then a beach bonfire before that undertow where no one floats a flame tended by anonymous faces smudged anonymous hands erased by that glow and by the occasional dry spittle of sparks
by Jeffrey Woodward
Detroit, Michigan
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