Lines on the Beach

Lines on the beach:
worn poles, half
eaten away by the
salt's insistence,
a dying cadence

past the water's edge,
split, cracked open -
the salt sits white on
the dry top halves;
green algae mark

the sea's routine.
So this is where
the waves end, this
is dry land even when
the storm's rage

will castigate
our truant shore,
the treasure-house of
shells, seaweed, sticks
and old wives' tales.