the rocks are on their way in.
they are all shorter than I am,
smashed into pieces
and half brown and half white.
I know they are on their way in
because the ocean is in puddles.
Sometimes the still water drains out
to the sea
and sometimes it brings me treasures.
A styrofoam cup. A broken and tumbled clam.
A wire trap. A lead sinker.
A lead sinker with barnacles.
They live in the rocks.
Opening their valves together
when things come in.
They let the ocean take its time
shifting this way. the globe tilts
salt water into our dry land;
The goldenrod dies back
and the rocks take their time.