Bio Note: I resumed writing after forty odd years in foreign intelligence and international sales. There've been over three hundred stories and poems published so far, and six books. I work the other side of writing at Bewildering Stories, where I squat on the review board and manage a posse of seven review editors.
The rolling waves of wants curl through my life, frothing up sparkling desires drowned by the next urges, wanting to surf on fulfillments but tossed in the churn until breaking on the shore
The shoal sour dries in wind drifts as the leavings of the ebb come into view. Shell piles here, sand there, rimmed by barnacle rocks and wet-rotting weed. Gulls and terns pick at scattered remnants of crab and fish, and lift dying clams high enough to drop them onto the rocks. The water almost, almost stops, a hovering quiver in the shoal’s edges, before the surge rewets the gasping buried on its slithering way across the crest. Men who ignore this ever-change are trapped by it. One or two boats a year aground, one or two men a decade drowned. Feeding and dying quicken with the flow, little fish pushed across the shoal toward waiting jaws, birds swooping for the crippled. Force of water rules the shoal, which heaves its crests and shallows to appease the ever-flowing god who never looks back. The water climbs man-high above the shoal, And, stirred only by wind fondles fish and weed and shell until ebbing implacably into turmoil.
©2021 Ed Ahern
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