Boneyard Beach
The sun rises over
The choppy atlantic.
Hot yellow beams
Cut through the cold.
Dried broken branches
reach high up into the
morning air at dawn.
At night, as the sun
drops back into the sea.
New life emerges from
the cracks in the branches.
Small delicate creatures
eek out their nightly lives.
Until the cycle ends.
This poem is about:
Me
My community
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