(Nonasyllabics)

        In retrospect the tragic nature
        of sea is a taste wept too daily,
        too depleted by freedom's rupture;
        the eyes have other secrets to see

        and deeper use for the detritus
        within us: the bright effluvium
        of ego dries up, mired as it is
        in wealth, that remedial medium.

        Blame it on fate, on beach memories--
        pebble put in the pocket or shell
        fragments; any memento carries
        us as much as we it. Time capsule

        contains every evening's interval.
        The ocean observes its own puddle.

Copyright © Bill Knott, 2005.  All Rights Reserved.