11 May 2025

By Philip Kuepper

I police the shore, hourly.
And, still, the tide
breaks-in, and steals
the land in the act of erosion,
an act I can’t catch it in,
though it happens right under my nose.

The harbor is in collusion,
always in the process, as it is,
of changing its contours.
At one point there is
sand and silt build-up,
an amassing of silt, rich with nutrients.

When next I look,
the silt has been stolen by the tide.
I increase my patrol.
It makes no difference.
Arrest the tide?
I might as well try and arrest the moon.

That’s the rub
when it comes to policing the elements.
They are in an endless
relationship of give and take,
of generosity and greed
the element having made the decision

Not to make a decision in the matter.
The elements want it both ways.
Why police them, then?
Why bother? Because
it is what I do. I keep watch,
like the eye of a lighthouse.

I keep alive the possibility
of exposure. I keep
the unsettled elements under watch,
so as not to be swept away
by a force beyond my control.
But, then, who am I fooling?

(4 May 2025)