Chilmark Skyline

A cross section of the planet’s edge.
How many summers
How many waves
How many centuries to build
And now to reveal.

From hurricane force winds
To the whisper of a swallow gliding past on the late autumn breeze
From right whales beached in distress
To the intersection of tiny snail trails winding from dune grasses
On down to the hard scrabble rim of the highest tide

Sunbaked stones singing as the water tries over and over to pull them
back to the cool dark bottomless green of the sea
Long lines and swells of marine treasures tangled and twined and twisted
and waiting for the early morning gleaners

The warp carved from above by the rain running in rivulets
down the bluff to the beach
And the weft revealed in layers of mineral and midden and the ancestors of us all.

We go down to this sea…