Low Tide

Today, as I walk along the seashore, it appears ashen,
An impenetrable grey.
A pallor, like fine sand, covers the shells at low tide.
Everywhere I see carnage,
Bleached skeletons of once magnificent sea creatures,
Decayed wood, blackened seaweed.

The ocean is a careless undertaker,
It shows little respect for these small corpses,
Tossing them at will,
Piling them along the high tide line,
Pureed, shattered ruins of once-vibrant life.

A woman in a large sun hat walks by and comments
On the beauty of the shells along the shore.
I would prefer to watch the crab
Pirouetting across the sand,
The starfish walking en pointe across the ocean floor,
The sand dollar practicing 5th position on his tiny purple legs,
But their undersea ballet is over.

I discover a small waterfront home
From which the tenant has been evicted
And put it in my pocket.