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The Sea Passes On

Betsy Holleman Burke

A man walks toward the water

drops his cane, crosses himself

before he enters the waves.

He hesitates, retreats, fears


what he observed on his slow

traverse of the rocky sand –

dried sea fans, fish skins, black fly

swarms, jelly fish, a dead crow.


Scared of a sting, running tide,

unsteady balance.  Beyond

him surfers bound from bright kites,

straddle boards, wait for big swells.


Just yesterday, he surfed too.

He smiles. Wades ever deeper.


Photo by Henry Brown.

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