Here is a draft of a poem I am working on about our beach by Lake Huron. I don't feel like it is done yet, but it is my slice of life in that I am working on it, and it tries to capture an image memory from this month.
the beach is movement
Waves frozen in motion.
Dunes that seem fixed, pinned by ice
but change every night.
Under the relentless wind
that speaks in a million languages,
silence presses on the dark
It tucks itself in like the
colorful chairs and
umbrellas stacked in grey garages.
the beach is texture --
ice as sharp as jagged teeth and
ice as smooth and
voluptuous as a body.