Shore at Evening by Chris Crittenden

light tinkers with the beach,
honing dents, preening
chiaroscuros

while kelp trusses the wrackline,
outweaving the verve
of Sanskrit.

crab bones and periwinkles
clatter in a moaning log.

the nude, fissured wood
seesawed across Cobscook Bay,
awkward in exile,
ruddered by a lost storm.

not even a narwhal
knows why the husk murmurs
like an engorged bassoon,

or why waves
topple to the music,
absently proffering
their deaths.


Chris Crittenden, Maine, USA