The shore is cabbage green and reeks.
Reclaimed swamp sprouts citrus
and tamarisk, manna to the ancients
who were starved for miracles.
Now a paper mill and Alliance Tires
spill their secrets further out to sea.

Along the roadside, two Arab boys
drag a gull by the wings
and beyond a horse belly-up in the field.
A glider dips over us, silent, and
gleams as it turns. We should stop
but drive on.