L. Annette Binder
Salt fog hangs over the water,
swallowing the surfers and their boards.
Just the boys in the waves and the gulls
arching and a rusted bucket
beside the rocks.
Children chase the swells and fall back again,
and water fills the tracks they leave.
We are undone by the elements.
Oxygen binds with iron.
It eats the anchors and the chains
and the bucket beside the rocks.
Shipwrecks are not immune,
nor the boys on their boards.
Grace gives them no shelter.
Somewhere above the condensate air,
somewhere high where the ocean has no sway,
a plane drones, and the sun
warms its aluminum skin and the wax
inside its wings.
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