across? too many times beside,
it gets harder.
by day driftwood
etched and pocked by
time and motion
thick shaft splits into a Y
just so,
waves like fingers
take fistfulls of sand
carry them away from me.
by night i pace, anywhere
but standing still
i am the water's edge
on fire for the coming tide
if not you, then who
will wash me down.
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