Metrical Defiance on Plum Island

Yesterday I went to the Parker Wildlife Refuge on Plum Island, around 6 PM. It’s my favorite beach north of the Outer Banks, and it’s only fifteen minutes away from me. It’s about a seven mile stretch of wilderness beach and sand dunes. From April to early August, it’s closed because of the nesting piping plovers. But now it’s open again. By the time I got there yesterday the fog had rolled in and there was absolutely no one on the stretch of beach accessible at parking lot five. No one! Just me and the fog. And:

Walking on an Empty Beach in Heavy Fog

This fog is more confusing than
any expression could expose.
A black flag waves, then disappears
into some chaos I suppose
was pre-existing. Footprints tell
the story of an empty shell.
Sandcastles fall—back towards the sand.
The sea is just a narrow pool
with shores defined by now and then.
The wind has turned to east and cool.
A pickup truck steers slowly by
appearing to personify
the driving force of this disorder,
although I guess someone went fishing.
An old seagull is standing at
the breakers, staring out and wishing
for something only seagulls know.
My feet defy this undertow.

Gregory Perry 2004