Arches and blowholes ― it is not the land
That’s being eaten now but sea. Bedrock
Is rising up, slow hand-over-hand
Experiment, pointing to ten o’clock.
The bedrock’s hard to carve but harder still
For the Pacific plate to buckle under,
Submitting to the North American will.
It’s lucky our coast isn’t torn asunder.
Yet to look out at the dark islands
With their tunnels, monoliths and caves
You’d think the flowering meadow of the headlands
Was being assaulted as the sea enslaves.
Things are not always as they appear.
The land is dining on the sea ― how queer!