Out On The Edge

of the beach where
the sound meets the sand
there is a long-dead maple tree
fallen in last winter’s storm blocking
the way from the cabin my grandfather built
so many years ago to the stretch of beach beneath
the bluffs where nature has its way and no man can tear
it asunder. The sun is dying a beautiful death on the horizon of
this pre-fall evening, its blood-spray across the sky that is closing its
eyes against the parting. There are days I cannot bear the passage of time.

(For Eve, remembering...)