The taste of salt and rust, the bones and ash of old fisher people, a roughness of rocks, a log bleached and worn smooth by the water.

An arrangement of birds, green lichen on black rock, damp air, eddying water in the out thrust of rock.

People, weird and creative and unadulteratedly themselves, foghorn, pebbles for me to find, sailboats listing, heron and seagulls.

Boulders in the driveway, green tendrils from the ground, the smell of sun and fog. My body is limp with beauty.