Usually the sand spires
and hardened bridges
succumb to the rhythmic
and predictable tides,
but today it is the pattering rain
that pelts the surfaces,
slowly texturing the walls
into uniform dimples
that lower it to the horizon.
The deep moat fills
and slowly erodes the walls;
fracturing off and filling themselves in
until the confined liquid reaches the banks
and overflows into the gate and courtyard.
The realm of crustaceans,
quartz, and salt
fall to the sky,
that awards it's subjects
with sintering embers each dusk.
Awakened by the lapping sea,
the warriors observe a flat beach,
rippled only with wind blown dunes
and the debris lines of tides,
piled high in rusty barbed wire seaweed,
bleached broken shell shields,
and the spears of mangrove seeds.
-Robert L. Jackson III