Hour Three Alone in the Ogunquit Waves
by: Miles Biskovich
The bone white and speckled gulls, bend, snap and twirl like majorette dancers.
The flying four pointed stars, wing and feet, head, wing again, fall out of the
anonymous line and spread.
A green wave crests into white, the trough scraping the rawhide sand. The
swimming four pointed star, the head ducks, the arms swing wide-out in a circle,
the fingertips scraping the sucking water up into froth. The points converge and
enter, turning with the wave and sweep.
Then exit, uncoordinate, into the frothing and spitting afterbirth surf.