The Whispering Tide

The whispering tide pulls back the shore, Exposing the ribs of forgotten ships, Timber softened by the salt and years, A gentle erosion of what was meant to last.

Gulls trace invisible currents above, Their cries sharp against the rhythmic drone, While tiny lives scuttle in the tide pools, A universe held in a hollow of stone.

We stand at the edge of this vast lung, Breathing in the mist and the ancient chill, Watching the horizon blur the line, Between the water and the heavy sky.