Poem: "Quiet, please"

Quiet, please—

the beach is turning over to sleep, drawing up

to its shoulders the slipping blanket of the sea.

The old Ferris wheel is slowing to a final stop,

its wooden cars empty. The stands are closing.

On the pier, extended like a promise, the lines

are reeled back to their hollow round casings.

The patrol boat is circling an invisible crater

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxas if a man is drowning.

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