Bay of Fundy
Dawn cries, dropping
seagulls in the air
scavenging morsels
marooned on damp rocks.
Fog soothes swift wings.
Salt sprays
the broken cliff base—
evening’s wounds
stung open again.
Half-memory seeps
from shallow cuts.
I need that pain.
7 thoughts on "Bay of Fundy"
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Pain will surely sharpen you, nice write!
Oh! That last line!
I picture a salt spray as an open wound (blood gushing out). I like how “Salt” and “stung” frame the stanza.
That… is why you are a poet. I feel this in my soul being from Florida beaches. The last line.
O wow.
Great verbs!
Hooked me here:
Dawn cries, dropping
seagulls in the air
scavenging morsels
marooned on damp rocks.
Fog soothes swift wings.