At Dawn Take Highway One South Out of Town

On a narrow stretch of beach between outcrops
Raised by the force of a tectonic plate
Slipping under the underwater lip
Of this land, solitude is so complete

Only the sandpipers that rush the shore
In search of food when the surf recedes are there
With you to mind its rhythm and survey
The waves. It hardly seems worthwhile, the way

They root for leavings in the tumbling sands
Then scamper back unfed, the frothy tongues
Of breakers after them. Not one pretends
To know a better way of doing things.

There isn't any. They live out their lives
At the water's edge. Back and forth, they test
Its pattern, pace its intervals, believe
Each time the waves have come for them at last.

Copyright © 2003 Will Toedtman All rights reserved
from The Several World
The Kent State University Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission