Remnants

by Ion Corcos

Seaweed scattered,
browns and rots to wrinkled skin;
flesh shed on the high tide.

Sand worn down by the constant thrust,
the ocean surges, rushes to reclaim

prints of paws and long gone feet,
fractured sticks and relics
herded ruthless in a heap.

Colourless shells smashed on rocks,
tangled in stems;

only shells soaked in brine
show signs of life, then fade,
as the sea returns to itself.

Seagulls screech, waste time;
they have time to waste.

They scavenge among remnants,
threads of seagrass, a dead fish,
frail reminders of the deep.