The Paper Sea By H. K. Snyder

The Paper Sea

Evening shade and paper waves
Are thrown against the bay,
Tearing loud across the sand
And throwing salty spray.

Azure ink runs through the deep
And silver sliver fish--
They dart between the maché coral
And olive seaweed strips.

Laughing gulls with postcard wings
Dip down into the the ink,
Then climb the air with webbed feet full
Of minnows blushing pink. 

The granules of the seashore sand
Compose a pale collage,
It crumbles and it forms anew
At the paper sea’s massage.

Tissue-paper clouds extend
Across the blue expanse,
Burning into fiery hues
At the lightbulb-sun’s glance.

And when the lightbulb sputters out
And nighttime shines its rays,
The paper sea--turned black and white--
Still tears across the bay.

H. K. Snyder is an author and poet residing in the piney woods of East Texas. She works as a barista, and on her down time finds joy in games of fetch with her dog, hiking, and the quiet contemplation of an open fire.

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