Drowned Coast

Self edge, self border, self end, selvage—
Selbend, zelfkant, selvegge—the wave
That curls against the shore of the world,

The hem of the oceanic self,
Attempting to prevent its whole weave
From unraveling, curling its toes

Against the rocks that fray it to threads,
Surf, spray, the hem that’s perpetual
Work to tend, sewn again and again—

Every sense furls a length, every word
Nips bits of thread, and all the gossip
Self pricks itself with, needles and pins

Waves resist. Bolts of cloth fray to waste
Trying to hem rolling oceans in,
And the hard world’s slowly eroded

By selves’ shining edges and borders,
Constantly pounding, breaking themselves
On cliffs undercut and drowned by them.