The Sun surveys his
coming kingdom of scorched sand
and motionless scrub.
Where will the heron
nest when the barren shallows
flash only with shell?
Will the snakes return
to the sea when nothing else
stirs in the blank dunes?
A bleached forest of pilings
like the salted trees in the
bareness behind.
The oil platforms off
this pleasant beach like standing
stones left by the absent.
I am tranquil in
this moment. Doom as yet is
still a horizon.
On the beach
About Me
Mark Folse is a provincial diarist and aspiring minor poet from New Orleans. His past blogging adventures included the Katina/Federal Flood blog wetbankguide on blogspot.com which David Simon told NY Magazine was one of three blogs that helped inform Treme, and Toulouse Street–Odd Bits of Life in New Orleans, which once outranked the Doobie Brothers on Google Search. His work has appeared in The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, The New Delta Review, Metazen, New Laurel Review, Ellipsis, What We Know: New Orleans as Home, Please Forward, The Maple Leaf Rag IV, and A Howling in the Wires (which he co-edited).
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Well Bottom Blues 
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