MAREGrey from the Gulf, all fallon the pale beach, shatter, bend where wet sand and air swoop, sing. Salt sting whirls past your ears. Hear? Striding: The white mare comes. And up. Long rollers coast and roar. They billow, heft, achieve the spume, flung, let fly- ten and ten again thousand times, miles or years curve green as turf; these breakers curl, pause, run. Steep, they build. Sea-wall and pasture will, must fall--the long spun manes of ocean boom, track home far deeps, drawn down; champed strips wash back, spray. Cup in one hand this wind. Reach. Fathom how the dark hooves drum. Potomac Review; Spikenard Return to Index of Jeannette Barnes poems
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