The Lost Coast

The Lost Coast ghosts
Of shipwrecks and shanghai's
Old moorings and soundings
And cliffs of the wayfarer's lament

The vagabond and downtrodden
Washed up redwoods and whale bones
Thrashed souls like hulls upon the rocks
Coughed up from fathoms below

Down, down, down into the Sinkyone sinkhole
Through the dark forests and brush
A bright sunlit sea of whitethorns rolling
And undulating as the waves they meet

Down rain rutted roads
Best not travelled when wet
Past backwoods farmsteads in the depths
And fresh blown in scents

Down to the seaside prairie
With heathers and elk pastures
Where vistas of sentinels stand
Upright against the torrents

Great walls and spires of the Earth
As if a whole continent dared
Thrust itself bare-chested against the deluge
Of crashing waves from a relentless sea

Great white cliffs and black fin rocks
And black sand beaches washed down
Tell tales of the scattered shales
And the footprints of the long forgotten

Untold stories of discarded treasure chests
Of jade and agates and moonstone
That glow and shimmer underfoot
As the guardian seals watch silently in the breaks

And the elks watch quietly from above
In the afternoon shore pine shade
Counting the waves one by one
Grazing and lounging at their leisure

Where halved redwood trees
Get thrown upon the rocky shores
As if they were great battering rams
Against the Earth's castle gates

Through the mists it appears
That the land uplifts and rises away
Abruptly as if interrupted
From a deep slumber of endless hourglasses

Aggravated with furrowed brows
The land turns its back on the sea
Rises and slumps away slowly inland
To rest in the shade of giant groves

Where it can feel protected
In steppes and rolling prairies
Safe from the bothersome battering
Under sitkas and sea spray

Under blackberries and cypress
The land eases and rests
Under sword fern and salal
Moss wrapped alders and pampas

The land softens and rejoices
Weighted by rains and held down
Satisfied in its place
For it is lost no more