Resisting lethargy and walking
a camera to the beach, arriving
just as a hungry gull drops
a mussel shell on the messy shore
and transparent fog softens
an angry reef of clouds.
Waiting for the lens to bridge
my eye to any offering:
torn crab claws, dead starfish,
pretentious crows scavenging.
When the sun calls it a day,
taking home sand-scatter
in my shoes, a single gull
reflected on the puddled shore,
oyster shards for painting words.
By Carolyn Martin
Carolyn Martin is blissfully retired in Clackamas, Oregon, where she gardens, writes, and plays. Her poems have appeared in journals throughout the US and UK.