Presque Isle

The beach road glitters in the noonday heat.
It is thick with horseflies from the bayside marsh.
They swarm and hiss as I pass

through to the edge of the world.
I lie on a bed of sand and count the pulse of the surf.
In time, it becomes my own.

The taste of water is in the breeze
that bends the long reeds on the dune crest.
Tides drive the walleye north to the peninsula’s tip,

where men with poles stand on rocks and wait.
To the south, branch wood brambles in gnarled shapes
sing of storms long gone, but never far away.

The stream of wind mocks speech.
In the roaring silence I gaze up,
my tongue swollen and dry.

4 Responses to “Presque Isle”

  1. Kyle Sundgren Says:

    “The stream of wind mocks speech”. I really like that line! Pretty poetically accurate to the frustration associated with trying to hold a conversation in the wind.

  2. Chandra Says:

    I like how I can see you’re poetic style changing over the past few years. It’s gotten more quiet, rural, contemplative (usually, anyway), like you no longer need to scream at things. I think it mirrors the changes in you as a person. Thoughts?

  3. Chandra, very nicely put. This work shows such a calmness in the writer, and I am so relaxed reading it. I feel like I am beside you, Seth.

  4. I love that I can feel as if I am standing just behind you, a stranger, watching you as you take in all of this.

    Beautifully done.

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