The Dock

I love docks
I love the smell of them
fish and sweat and creosote.
I love the coils of rope
the old crates that held crabs
the stink of old shrimp nets.

I love walking on a dock
the cracks between the boards
where you see the shaded water
lapping below you -
the feeling that you could,
if you really tried,
levitate over the green salt water
or plunge into the briny river
and breathe easy with the fish.

A mystical exension of Mother Earth
made of old boards and rusty nails -
a dock takes us to the lonely shrimpboats
with their silent shabby beauty
leading to the universe of the sea,
the endless possibilities within us all.

Carolina Morning

Variegated marshgrass
illuminated by the honey glow
of the southern sun
frames the pluff mud
home of sharp-edged oysters
their muddy shells
in stark relief
against the slick mud.

No purple mountain's majesty
near so lovely
so serene
as the sun-dappled marsh
on a Carolina morning.