Found on the Beach
April 25, 1865 "Known Only to God"


I want to be washed here,

unknown, no history

clinging to me,

only weeds from the deep.

Not a bad place to end

the headland curved

like an arm around the cove,

and the surf in even lines,

moving over it all.

I could succumb

to the day's accumulation

of grief, the freight

of my questions and doubts.

The tide would govern me,

the one who drowned

in its silent will.

Washed ashore, I may

no longer speak,

but I have other secrets:

the clear door of the sea,

the limpet's blue eye in my hand.

by Kristin Fogdall

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Last updated: January 4, 2005