Ride the Wind
Bobbing to meters of time and tide,
flat-bottomed boats at anchor lie,
lines taut against currents blue,
from the sea to past the sky.
With pitted rake in calloused hands,
and wearing clothes of seaweed hue,
the bay-man’s muscles heave and strain,
harvesting the clam for meager gain.
Aloft—sharp claws, beaks and wings
spread wide, thieves ride the wind,
swoop into the salty catch and rise—
shamelessly trumpeting their prize.
August 13, 2010