Before the wind and then the rain closed in,
There was a time you could have stood
On the shore, hobbling if you had to hobble,
Watching the surf churn in the arches' maw,
Knowing the waters were rising, had been
Rising for the past twelve thousand years,
Holocene, Anthropocene, end of scene.
New arches were being gouged by waves,
Even as the old arches became more frail
And ready to collapse. But those waves,
They took their everlasting time about it.
You could have stood there, if you could
Have stood it, until you literally fell over
And died, and the arches would have stayed
Visibly the same. So you couldn't stand it.
You drove back through the incoming
Weather off Belle Isle Strait, down, down
Toward the ferry town, asked St. Christopher
Intercession on the passenger side. Couldn't
Go anywhere. Couldn't stay. Not in those waves.
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