The Sea by R.S. Thomas

The Sea,  by R.S. Thomas
They wash their hands in it.

The salt turns to soap

In their hands. Wearing it

At their wrists, they make bracelets

Of it. It runs in beads

On their jackets. A child’s

Plaything? It has hard whips

That it cracks, and knuckles

To pummel you. It scrubs

And scours: it chews rocks

To sand: its embraces

Leave you without breath. Mostly

It is stomach, where bones,

Wrecks, continents, are digested.
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