Benagil

I stand out to the edge unknown

Whether water below is making it time

And my step per chance some precipitator

For the centenial shelf to recede again.

 

If it gave, my ghostly purpose would wonder

What winds had compelled me this route

In unbeknownst conspiracy

With the salty forces of continental erasure?

 

Or has it a crime and its punishment in one fall

Counterbalancing premature verticalization

Within a single destination for the early rockfall

And the tardy interloper, simply too heavy?

 

All ends are ultimately indifferent to themselves

One end will not be defied by its own reason;

On this edge unknown, chance has let us hold,

But in the open horizon ahead, made uncertain between the winds of congruity and the unbound freedom to fall.

 

January 2020