It is blood No more to say The people devour its flood ✽✽✽ Adam did grow From fine red clay, but know This is the home of Tashtego
The sand drawn vee Mimics tide’s Cyclic identity ✽✽✽ Would myriad dancing feet Breaching the shore Record this sandy score
Empty shells foretell A silence That pebbles endure so well ✽✽✽ Valued shells And eroded ores Bank on ancient shores
Sea to haughty bluffs, atone You are But smooth stone ✽✽✽ How many generations Does it take Sea to jagged edges break
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The photographs and poetry in this collection originally were published in AQUINNAH, DAWN OF MARTHA’S VINEYARD, by T. M. Shorewick.