I like it here in Fall, no one is around.
It’s just the way a reverential place should be.
The only pest, a beady-eyed seagull eyeing me.
I like to watch how the waves crash into the wrecks.
Spouts of foamy water and wind shoot out of it,
almost like a play dough factory.
I’ll watch it for a while and consider these wreck’s longevity.
Sure they died the day they shored up here but they still stand
against the waves and the progression of time,
still a semblance of what they used to be.
Sometimes, I’ll close my eyes and imagine a ship as fine as it was
when it commanded the sea.
Devouring the sheen from the surface and gliding toward its destiny.
Glorious in its sail.
When my eyes open and view the wreck, I wonder how much longer it will survive.
I don’t believe I’ll ever see it fully die.
I sit and wonder about it all.
Then, lay on my back giving into a cradle of stone and sand.
I open my eyes and consider my own demise
and see the most unbelievable beautiful blue.
Dreaming of a warm heaven from this cold grave can be glorious too.