On Narragansett Beach at Sunset by John Grey


Shore coerced by creeping shadow.
Sky through haze.
I’m more the sense of where I am
than the sum of visible evidence.
Along the beach, a conflict
between shape and shapelessness.
Then a melee –
a line of frothing white stretches beyond eyesight,
stops, retreats.

The world tilts in such a way
that only the least shows of the whole,
the waves at my toes, the rocks ahead.
Soaked sand hardens just enough
to allow my footprints.
I stroll through bubbling shells and pebbles,
feel a little of the reach
that hisses then fades,
the pull that hauls a thought or two out to sea.

Sunset glows orange, gold.
Gulls now dark as blackbirds
fly toward the distant cliffs.
They are silent at twilight
as they are noisy during the day.
They see no reason for a beach at dusk.
They do not see at all
the one who walks it.

©2019 John Grey


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John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in That, Dunes Review, Poetry East and North Dakota Quarterly with work upcoming in Haight-Ashbury Literary Journal, Thin Air, Dalhousie Review and Failbetter.


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