Travelling north on slick-wet roads
over smooth glacial patches,
the car, a well-thrown pebble,
skims the surface.
You, my man-boy, in the back,
arms aloft like Noah,
thanking your dead father
for the rain.
We sound it out –
the wide-mouthed ge
of its beauty,
the o of surprise wavering at its edge.
Here the Atlantic
reclaims the sandstone grain by grain,
clefting the faults, serrating the cliffs.
We stand on the stone-thrown boulders
mouthing through the sough of the wind.
* A geo is a deep narrow cleft in the cliff face formed by marine erosion
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