The Coastal Dialogue

The ocean writes against the limestone shelf, A slow erasure of the ancient script, Where chalk and salt in patient discourse blend And break the continent to jagged grit.

It does not hurry, nor does it relent, The heavy pulse of water on the stone, A metronome that takes a century To carve an archway from the solid bone.

And we who walk the fragile, narrowing edge, Can only watch the architecture fall, While deep beneath, the sand begins to rise, A new foundation waiting on the crawl.