I am sitting on a rocky island
no bigger than an efficiency apartment in the city.
Facing west into a crisp breeze, I await sunset.
Waves splash against my feet,
an occasional energetic one reaches higher to my thighs,
but I do not move.
I am alone on this collection of rock
piled against the darkness of the surrounding deep.
Perched on this unmapped anomaly
that looks something like a prop on a stage,
I sit in quiet amidst the blue green wildness.
A heron usually roosts in the highest of the three scraggly pines
on this precipice but he is not here.
He'll return at sundown to fish.
I have taken all the goggle-eye that I want from his waters.
Drawing them out of the jagged descent about this island,
I consider their subterranean endurance.
I am alone except for a wary loon
who observes me from a safe distance
though she gives the impression of minding her own business.
I remember the midnight cries of loons stationed about this park.
Their daytime demeanor belies their haunted voice
but I welcome the lonesome sound.
I feel the immense forest surrounding me.
Her foreboding spirit welcomes me.
I sit alone and I wonder just how it is
that I came to be on this rock.