Who could cling to the myth of accretion when arrived, like we have, at this
precipice? Where cypress once flanked makeshift steps now tumbled
unto sea, we have to keep
Lighthouse, Shipwreck
I track what’s absent—faint apparitionof landing poleswhere cormorantscongregate. Low tide. Sidewheel steamers,a century ago,docked off this spitof sand, taking shelterat Pilots Landing. Newcomers climbedthe burnt coppercliffs to the far-offlighthous
