A Jetty Stone’s Hymn

by Michael Sandler

I rest against the base of a pier’s pile,

a pillar probing onset of the inconstant

sea. A stack of us as monument,

landmark of decline to water's rule,

a cairn to human claims—your boundless claims.

Of course, you champion the best of motives

as if your projects meant to be protective

of this fief. Perhaps unwise to tar with blame

each spill, but even a perigean tide

can’t wash my feet of the insoluble.

Above me fleets of busy vessels bail

effluents, microplastics, biocides

to lap my toes—perils others may sidestep…

In feculent swells, a resin-spume of breakers,

have you become a rival to the water?

I try to pick a deity to worship,

but even water seems to have turned on me,

her steady churn edged with acidic knives,

flaying my sediments. I pray in waves

for her self-healing; and rue her frailty.

So, I praise you, a littoral belief

there’s fresh and not just salt—for in the end

may be your word, its adamant command

over your ward,

mine eye consumed with grief.

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Michael Sandler is the author of a poetry collection, The Lamps of History (FutureCycle Press 2021). His work has appeared in scores of journals, including recently in THINK, Literary Imagination, and Smartish Pace. Michael lives near Seattle; his website is www.sandlerpoetry.com.