Grimlett Island

they say in the inlet’s sandy shoals
a wet little island rides the tides
where legend recalls a man’s repose
deeper than where the ghost crabs hide

his ship with weather-stained canvas sails
tossed in the churn between withered lands
his orders snapped like his waistcoat’s tails
until heaved and marooned by all plotting hands

he swam to the island and paced twelve strides
drenched with showers of blowing spray
so high was the nighttime’s hungry tide
he dared not hope to see the day

but one morning stretched to two and more
and thirst began cracking his salty throat
he decided to dig until his fingers tore
and seams ripped open his decaying coat

down he lay as the waters flowed
seabirds soaring over his drowsing head
until rising seas made his hole erode
his two last achievements--buried and dead


(Inspired on the ferry ride today between Hatteras and Ocracoke Island.)