A Million Tiny Chasms

Matthew Miller

by

Along the green gulf, frothy morning sands scuttle with

white crabs, nervous zigzags who draft faint tracks in the first

light, disappear in shallow hovels. My youngest drags his heel

backwards, thwarting pinched escapes. Ghosts dig tunnels

at night. He shudders with what might live within. So, we fill them,

and the sun heaps heavy breath on miles of beach ahead.

Matthew Miller teaches social studies, swings tennis rackets, and writes poetry - all hoping to create a home. His poetry can be found at https://mattleemiller.wixsite.com/poetry.