Dune Tea

Poetry

Photo by Todd Trapani on Unsplash

Walking in the early morning fog. I come to a long-fallen wall
and hear the sea against the unseen shore.
It’s not quite dawn and not yet a storm — ghost crabs
sail in gusts across the beach.
The wind in the dunes and the dune’s grass rise.
Faraway thunders and the tides surge behind me.
Coming home sand spills like salt across the threshold. My heart beats on
an empty print. The wind sifts the sand just sand.
Black leaves and pale steam in a clay pot. The steam warms my closed
hand. Suddenly the rain rattles a window. A scarf hung on the door falls.
Expecting nothing I set out another cup.