As the sun sets
on the horizon line
or Mt. Index
the white tipped waves
dance
the same pattern
over and over
separating
the two rock beaches

the train muscles itself
over the bridge
not bothering me

i sit
all alone
on a rock
i claimed was mine
when i was four
talking to it
like i t was my best friend

that little rock beach
was my home
a meadow of green grass
behind a forest
and a trail
with a river front

on the other side
a town
and a road
man-made

in the mornings
i'd wake up
to the sound of my fathers-customers
walking through the trail
to the beach
with blown up boats
by their sides

i remember they looked so funny
when i was little
but now
theyre my customers
waddling in life jackets and-wetsuits
ready to terrify themselves
by the spirit of the river

now i stand
crying
watching the beach
and my rock
being marked
by never knowing humans