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Mooring Line

Pearled with barnacles, it lies half-buried in the dunes like the necklace of a giant, flung angrily to the ground.

Braided with thick, blue and white strands of nylon, its ends are frazzled as an old maid’s hair, scorched

from one too many permanents. Its massive size belies its weakness, its nylon long ago compromised by sun and weeks on end at sea.

With nothing to show it mercy but the laggardly deepening sand, it’ll lie this way for months, sponging the screams and fleeting

shadows of the gulls, tethering uselessness to the slow, consuming pull of ruin.

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