Dead Starfish
washed up
on the beach
high tide’s brief wasting
a minute more, a minute less
the beach holds
sand secrets
to take or to give
back and forth we go
but time does not wait
as the last wave recedes
the next plunges forth
and wipes the slate
pebble and foam completely
clean.
(Previously published in The Oracular Tree, June 2003)
poem by Laurence Overmire
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