The Weight of the Tide

The basalt spine of the coastline fractures, spilling black sand into a churning maw, where the sea reclaims its ancient debt.

Tides do not measure in minutes or moons, but in the slow dissolution of stone, the grinding of shells into a blinding dust.

We stand at the edge, heavy with our briefness, watching the water devour the shore, a rhythmic erasure of everything we know.