Edge of the Tide

Stone ribs face the sea.
Cold spray salts the air.
The tide grants no plea.
Gulls cut through the glare.

The sun slips through the pine.
Dark cliffs guard the shore.
Waves erase each line.
Then return once more.

Black rock drinks the foam.
Roots grip broken ground.
No ship calls this home.
Only surf resounds.

Cloud bands drift and fade.
Wet pools catch the gold.
Day withdraws its blade.
The sea stays fierce, old.

Each breaker strikes fast.
Each silence cuts deep.
Hours fade and pass.
Currents never sleep.

The horizon burns low.
Earth and water bend.
Still cold currents flow.
Sharp coasts never end.