Since 2023, I have been a resident artist with One Landscape, an environmental organization devoted to preserving wild and fragile ecosystems. To walk in Napeague, at the far eastern reach of New York State, is to observe, experience, and participate in a seascape in constant transition. Napeague means “land overflowing with water,” and that interplay of water and land has formed and re-formed the region for eons, beginning with the long, slow melt of the glacier that first formed Long Island. My immersive walks have taught me to see a beach not so much a place as a condition, the land an amalgam of elements ground by the water’s lapping and pounding. Impermanence defines Napeague, even as human residents build homes they believe are solid and will endure. This poem, part of my Napeague “dossier,” is set on the Atlantic Ocean.
Water has no point
laps over land, hastens back
leaves a scalloped line
fine as any needle
incessantly impressing waves’ wavering encounters
across the sand, which it grinds down to ground, washing all it meets —
flesh and shell, bone and stone, branch and leaf and litter
to finest indistinction
Water has no edge
meets the sky precisely where it is
in an unerring line
straight as any ruler
matching blue for blue, gray for gray
mirroring weathers’ calm, radiant, obscure, calamitous
ever shifting temperaments
And when the last
being is ground down will waves
still break
over unwalked shore?
Will sky still press against, along
unseen, unending sea, which upholds
unwavering horizon?