After The Storm

Today the high-tide line is strung with stranded jellyfish.
They gleam like glass beads in the sun
like gelatinous angel tears
drying to a crust of salt.

The wind rips veils of spume from the faces of breaking waves
and blows clouds of foam along the beach
soap-bubble shimmers dissolving
to brown slime on my hand.

Today nothing is quite what it seems. Seaweed and dune grass
mingle on the beach in tangled clumps--
land, air and water all confused
mixed in the pounding surf.