On the edge of the tidal waters,
of the sea running in from the Gulf,
There are places that will be so remote,
And ground that may have begun anywhere,
But ended up here, or there, this mix,
This crowded place of marine, bait buckets,
These hawser-laid of various size, meaning to hold the ship in place, Broken now, but each man's platte still there,
Holding the rope together.
Low tide, this stands like a tribute,
With high tide,
the sea always takes back, and it is no longer there.
Ralph Peck
Photo by Mary Dills
South Texas on The Gulf of Mexico
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