The Breakers

Disconsolate, restless is the sea.

Gathering hidden strength,

dark-brooding Proteus,

abiding not the immovable,

assails his bounds,

pulls down the walls of creation

into his primal dark realm

grain by intractable grain. 

Breakers rumble in the cove

beyond a shirr of cypress

staggering down to white surf.

Cormorants scud the air,

mark the temporal slate

with sweeping arches;

tenuous inhabitants

in a tear of veils, burnt in time. 

Grey moon, auburn sun

locked in contentious years,

divide these headlands.

They send leaden cylinders

incessantly onto the battered cape,

while all is being irretrievably swept

beneath the plane of the ecliptic

towards distant unknown shores. 

On this savage blade of land

eternity itself is wearing away

under the dominion

of unattainable spheres,

driven by indifferent

and relentless momentum,

until the last stars rain down

in the waste hells of time.