I’m struck by the stones
not pebbles smooth rounded stones.
The deserted cove I’ve come across
is filled with millions of them
from the foot of the cliff to where
they disappear beneath the waves.
Stones small medium large
every shade of grey.
I pick up a few of these ovoids
weighing them in my palm.
Balance ones of decreasing size
on top of each other constructing
a watchtower in the face of
the tide that foams ever closer.
Next day I return to contemplate
such ruins as remain.