Find me down by cathedral rocks (broke down 
years ago). Give me a truth, a truth to tell. 
 
               Strange how rocks (pink or grey, striped or freckled, slick  
               after the lick of tide) gather in clumps, like families. 
 
Find me down by cathedral rocks (broke down, bleached  
and chipped). Show me a rip current, and its taste. 
 
              Air after tide tastes like tepid water at the peak 
              of a hard climb: wave upon wave of return.  
 
Find me down by cathedral rocks (broken 
as they marvelled, too high, at their own wind-cut beauty).  
 
            Following the echo of sun on plain, a companionate beauty, 
            I walk into wave upon wave of return, unweighted.  
 
I will find you down by cathedral rocks (a canyon, fixed,  
whose walls cry unceasing and echo the blur of sun).  
 
           They will give me a truth, a truth to tell: we will never stop 
           breaking, and this plain, one day, will be, on waking,  
           our home.