Out with a friend in his little fishing boat,
not fishing,
we’re enchanted by a morning cruise
of a tiny rocky inlet of the sea
where the water is turquoise and calm,
and right before us looms
a world wonder in pink
that shrinks our significance
to the likes of two small words
on a capsule easily swallowed.
It’s a bluff, perhaps 500 feet high,
its billions of minute facing particles
glisten mica-like
even though the sun
is yet behind it.
What a sun itself
it will be
as the hours pass and
it is siren to sailors
and flyovers.
Silent as a mime.
The geologist
just as mute. 

–Allan Cox