49 The Rebecca Mae After the loud storm she lay off shore low In the water, grating on rocks. Then a huge wave Beached her and she looked good enough to save, Engine and all. Half sunk in sand now, though. All of us eye her as we come and go, Runners and saunterers. But she never gave When kids tried prying her from her half grave. Soon her name’s under. Just her gunnels show. Still the big seas aren’t done with her. One day We find her resurrected, all the way Past the next point, then later scattered out Against the cliff, till her last splinter’s under The sand we pad on; now a well-buried boat To muse on running through the water-thunder. 97