Sandpipers

Ten miles of flat land along the sea. Sandland where the salt water kills the sweet potatoes. Homes for sandpipers — the script of their feet is on the sea shingles — they write in the morning, it is gone at noon — they write at noon, it is gone at night. Pity the land, the sea, the ten mile flats, pity anything but the sandpiper's wire legs and feet.