(Nonasyllabics)

In retrospect the tragic nature
of sea is a taste wept too daily,
too depleted by freedom’s rupture;
the eyes have other secrets to see

and deeper use for the detritus
within us: the bright effluvium
of ego dries up, mired as it is
in wealth, that remedial medium.

Blame it on fate, on beach memories–
pebble put in the pocket or shell
fragments; any memento carries
us as much as we it. Time capsule

contains every evening’s interval.
The ocean observes its own puddle.

Analysis, meaning and summary of Bill Knott's poem Fragments From The Beach

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