Today's poem is by Dore Kiesselbach


the moon has cut the bulging
coinpurse of the sea.
Up and down the coast
for miles silver fish flow
by thousands onto sand
and thrash the slick sheen there to foam,
burying their heritage
between two domains.
Their task is engineering;
they have no mind
for what will come to light
(it is even possible with salt
and tapwater to recreate
that second tide at home).
Some among the bleary
refocus their eyes
to store the scene
in pixels. Others wade
with buckets into surf
as if into a vast,
dark bank vault
after the end of the world.

Copyright © 2010 Dore Kiesselbach All rights reserved
from Salt Hill Journal
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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