In the warm brown
Soil of the cove,
We have hunted,
Hacked and gouged
In an antievolutionary
Slaughter of adherence.

But at Land's End,
Chanting solemnly
In the salt mist,
Arms raised skyward,
Green robes draping earthward,
They brace themselves
Along the ridgelines and
Condescendingly note our passage.

08/15/2000

Author's Note: Catalina (Parsons Landing) poem written from island impressions of the summer of 2000.

Posted on 06/15/2009
Copyright © 2024 Leonard M Hawkes