They pile up at the foot of the cliff,

solid and clotted,

the rocks which have been falling,

sliding down without reaching the sea

that bellows, smokes and breaks down below.

In thousand of years time,

you tell me from the top of this viewpoint path,

this will all be sand.

We watched this niche of sea

and as if our point of focus got bigger

or suddenly everything reversed,

we became infinitely smaller,

and almost dwelled inside those huge rocks.

Walking the beach we contemplated

the granular movement of sand,

the debris and the shells

and we sheltered in any one of those pebbles.

As we shrank we ran our fingers over the pebble's grain,

a wall from which the sandstone loosens,

our own boundary.

Fractures and fissures of accumulated mineral, this is what 

      we are.

The debris of the shadows and seams of grey

began to glimpse themselves in the sky.

Breathing again brought back the pines,

the line of the coast, the path.