Hush Between Tide and Limb..

A withered pine leans toward the blue,
a single silhouette against a sky so true.
Salt breath lifts from rock and foam,
each wave a traveler finding home.

Black stone juts like ancient teeth,
where white water hisses, coils, and wreaths.
Light threads the surf in foamy lace,
then slips away to some far place.

The cliffside hums with scrub and thorn,
green and stubborn, sunlit, worn.
Up here the world is simple, clear:
the small brave tree, the endless near.

Beneath the wide unquestioning dome
the sea keeps speaking, slow and chrome;
and I, a witness on the rim,
hold the hush between tide and limb.