PHOTO: Jonathan Pazer (c) 2020. All Rights Reserved.
THIS BIT OF FENCE
On the beach, the foam crackles
morning’s calm waves quietly susurrate.
In the long view out to sea
low white-blue clouds
meet blue-white ocean mist
on the horizon of uncertainty.
At my feet, the tide line runs
ragged, various and definite.
Some of what was cast up from below
was not drawn back, and it leaves
a jumbled record of the movements of
last night’s extravagant symphony.
I walk this wrinkled seam between
the sandy now, and my remnant yesterdays.
* * *
A bit of hurricane fence
ends and rough edges rounded
scarred with rust around its girth
recalls the wire that once bound it to purpose.
On what sharp rimmed brink did it stand?
Was it fence or rampart that fell to sea?
The high tide’s subtle encryption
chronicles more than one night’s raucous squall.
It encodes an entire ocean of memories
laid out, in a sweet tangle, beckoning....
Jonathan Pazer
Mendocino, CA
April 8, 2020 AC (After Covid-19)
EDIT Apr. 9, 2020 AC, V.3
Beginning the second month of our “Stay-At-Home” mandate, due to the Corona virus pandemic.
This poem was written for the pieces of fence ends I picked up last winter after a storm tide.
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