Gulls circle, as they plunge and dip for crabs and clams
their luminescence reminds me of falling stars. The first faint strokes of fog hang in the air.
In the purple light darkness leans against my eyes.
The only sound is the shush of grass underfoot.
Water stills to a silent sheet,
becomes stained glass in the glow of buoy lights. As I watch nightfall through the prism of a wine glass
I think of the infinite reach of even the smallest light.
I think of the sky stretching forever in every direction.
I think of God’s body trapped in an atom of bread.
I think of the chance – certain, ordained, so finely balanced,
that finds me here at the end of land.