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Tidal Flats

by Frederick Speers

Confirmed by the Common Terns that plunge-dive—
Exclamation marks into an August harbor; by


                                       Moonsnails, Knobhead Whelk, and
Periwinkle; by the sun-interrogated

Ghost-crabs flung
Among the pale straws fired through marl;

By the tiny brackish waves that recall only

                              That residual chore, to carry on
And on about you; by the lonely Laughing

Gull, heading home in every direction; by

Coca-Cola shards confused with Brittle Stars, and
Half-buried in the wet gauze of grass; by

The sand-drawn skull that you had claimed

To be no less than the “circumference
               Of knowledge”; and

By the least physical of all problems
                                                                                 —Your two,

Cloudy, dark-blue eyes that had convinced me
There were no such things as lies.


Frederick Speers is a poet living in Boston. In December he will be moving to San Diego.

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