Riverine

The coast changes shape
with every storm and hurricane.

There are slicks of land that formed
where once there had been only water,

as if some wind-battered god had spit 
a surplus of dirt and sand from his mouth.

But everything sinks that once
rose; everything returns to the cradle

where it was forged. There is talk
about planting barriers of seagrass, 

raising walls against the onrush of water. 
With arms the sheen of oyster pearl,

the current pulls its retinue of ship-
wrecks and prehistoric fish.

Rivers dream of the day 
they are returned to themselves.