1.
Gentle waves wash across
the tawny, packed sand,
as crab skeletons litter
our path toward Haystack.
The gulls pick at the shells,
praying for any last,
clinging piece of meat.
Even fully alive, the *****
make for small morsels.
What lies under water
may be tastier and more
nutritious to the poor,
omnivorous marine predator.

2.
Haystack looms, a giant
half-cone shadow pressed against
the lavender-pink, dusky sky.
Barnacles and starfish cling
to its face; amid the crags
a touch of color: red-orange, light gray.
A landmark, icon, natural wonder,
Haystack forms a filled-in archway
to pass through – or around –
on your way back to more
wave-washed beaches and tiny *****.

3.
It’s not doing that counts here,
but being; the behemoth
black rock overshadowing
humans in the distance, as tiny as *****.
National treasure, natural marvel,
Haystack exists purely to be seen
from all watery perspectives.
Close or up, far or down, its bulk
blocks the way for the beach’s
minuscule inhabitants,
scurrying homeward,
as waves scour the shoreline
time and again — their backs turned
to the big, black beacon
that never shines, but only absorbs
the light meant for souls lost at sea.