The horizon burns,
charring distant mountains
into stark silhouettes,
bold and back-lit by
the fiery sunset.
Upon the pier,
we hear the Sound
sloshing cold and salted
against a limestone basin
set by men-
cathedral vaulted
to account for tides,
ancient and
quotidian.
To our other side,
apartment lights
twinkle
like false stars,
and a mockery
of river rush
is spewed by
lines of cars.
Here, it’s impossible
not to think
of Atlantis,
that city lost to sea
and uncharted dark
when man’s progress
was reclaimed
by the deep.
Once more,
all our concrete
and twinkle perches
on the precipice
of myth.
When will we become
a fable for the nascent
and ambitious to
dismiss?
pm poetry 