Jetsam -- by Kim Ode

Tree trunks, white as marble.
Coffee mugs with curses in their wake.
Great bales of beaver pelts, once.
An anchor, and over there, another.
From the sand, the prow of a voyageur canoe
Breaks the lake bottom's liquid lines.
Occasionally there is a new thing
Binoculars
Sunglasses
A fishing rod
Each descends at a different speed
Sinking through the fathoms into darkness.
Irretrievable.
A fish once, with a flick of its tail, avoided
A collision with an empty pickle jar
On its way down.
It clinked against the anchor
Breaking into vinegary shards.
Given enough wind and waves
And time
It stands a good chance of ending up
As seaglass on some scrounger's shelf.
If only it can achieve a beach.