The cliffs of the sea, stunted and black
stretch crookedly in a line between
the land and the sea. And me,
I am well content
with windowsills collecting dust,
and apples every fall 'til come famine or flood.

A dissatisfied grin, a shambled gate:
the cliffs are strung out like skeleton teeth.
Or the teeth of a rake left out in the rain
for too long. And I chose
to stride one side, plant my seeds and feet
rather than water, and drifting for weeks.

Look at the faces of the lonely cliffs
staring out at the sea
they raise their eyes at night
to glimpse the stars

Look at the faces of crumbling boulders
that say, come, and rest on me
they burrow down in moss
and muddy ground

Look at the faces of earnest, brave pebbles
laughing in rushing cold creek
they dance and spin in light
and water smooth

Look at the faces of silvery-cool rocks
resting in the shade of a tree
they look out at the green
and sigh so sweet