Land’s End

There’s a place called Land’s End where I stand to look, clear my head.

I stand there, again and again. Never once, experiencing the same setting twice.

This time Waves kiss the rocks again and again. No two pecks alike. some drawn out, others putter off

Off into the harbor, Fog and the mist set sail blown forward by The ocean’s deep breathe, Out and rest midway the Headlands.

I hear a crow, a caw as native fowl sail and soar before skimming their bellies across the shore.

The sky falters, into daylight no more. The portrait I stand before, Sets forevermore.

Because what is before Is nevermore, but tomorrow’s almost ashore.

Francesca Bavaro Francesca enjoys reading and writing poetry and short fiction. In her spare time she enjoys hiking, walking dogs, and frolicking in the grassy knolls of Golden Gate Park. She is terrified of birds.

Originally published at http://forumccsf.org on July 8, 2019.