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The Sea, The Sea



For that for which we invented the term "teems,"
now filling with icemelt and plastic while emptying of life,
let us stand alone on sand, so much harder and deader
than soil, and look out over the roiling and rising
expanse of sameness that long separated and sometime
brought together.  Let us stand slump-shouldered
in shame under the relentless and unforgiving fire
and release our last anachronistic hope into the sky
like a once deliciously-frivolous helium balloon.

All poems are written and copyrighted by Michael C. Rush.
None may be republished or repurposed without permission.