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The line between sea and sky
blurs in the fog.
Beyond the jade foam
and ivory spray,
beyond the marble, flexing
muscles of the ocean,
the world drops away
into cold grey chaos.

This is the might
of the heart of the world,
thrusting fingers older
than Neptune
into the shore,
scratching with ancient fingernails
to make impressions
on the back of Mother Earth

making ridges in the rock
marking where time
will join them again
and again.
Here lies the birth and death
of each tiny life.
Here is all that remains
of history.

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