Maine Vacation

After five hours we cross the bridge, we're 

almost there. Fir trees on a spit of

land narrow into  pine needle church spires.

Rock  outcroppings stacked on top

of one another ascend into the sky.

It is low tide and the ocean keeps receding. 

Before I crossed the bridge time had 

its own agenda. No time for staring at the 

shade of ocean water or the thin line 

where place  and ocean meet.