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As we stand on ocean cliffs,
the wind sears through us
with its cold memories,
like the angles of ice
catching our warm feet
as we try to step over
the frozen cracks

The visit of snow
lying quietly on rounded inlets
can feel like the soft touch
of a hand over jagged rocks
glowing in the moonlight,
or bellowing loudly
out of a thunder hole,
slicing between the rocks
with its echoes

The wings of snowdrifts
rise like fingers
out into the circle of the ocean
filled with the riotous confetti
of snowflakes,
melting like laughter
into the whites of the
ocean’s blue green eyes

The waves whirling
the whitecaps around
like fingers moving
inside a magician’s
white gloved hands,
passing the magic
before our eyes

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