For Its Violence
by Larry D. Thomas


we love it,
this coast
of Maine
in winter
where great

black-backed
gulls scream
to keep
their beaks
from freezing

shut: where,
seaward,
the air cracks
as lobstermen
sledgehammer ice

from the bows
of their boats:
where, as dawn
breaks, the dories
dully gleam, tide-

strewn helter-skelter,
flung to the rocks
like globs
of dirty
pigment.





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