Water Line

A wave swells up and crashes on the beach.
The sanderlings, undaunted, scoot away,
continuing to forage out of reach,
then rushing back before the salty spray
has had a chance to dissipate or dry.

Beaks polished by the unforgiving sand
hunt, peck at tiny morsels washed up by
the grey, relentless sea onto the land,
an ancient, immemorial dispute
with the reluctant shore, to gain, lose ground,
while scavengers, both slow and light of foot,
play out their shallow parts, all to the sound
of clockwork, indefatigable tides.

Observing, but refusing to pick sides.