A vacant comber,
Beach gypsy, shrilly-shally
Along then out of sight
As the heat of the sunrise
Grows flirting.
The ocean springs up
And rolls out
In continuous eruption
As to take her back, and
Isolates the rest
With the meanness
Of a dream.
Garland of the sea’s refuse
Lace of foam, she continues
The rubble work. Pail of shells
Sand dollar, all the gewgaw
Of tide.
In silent grasp
Looking out to the drift of snow,
Shaking head
To clear the sand of sleep,
The salt of my skin.
I put on a sweater,
My hair stands on end
I am electric!
Full of spark,
Furthermore
E. Charles Rolwing III 