By RAHN ADAMS
Crossing Mad Inlet to get there / was what made the trek / An adventure on an otherwise ordinary day.
If your sojourn on Bird Island / wasn’t timed with the tide, / Your return might be delayed for hours
While you waited on the beach / for the meandering moon / And the arcing sun to align for your benefit.
So then you’d wander on down / to the driftwood bench in the dunes, / To see what other dawdlers had said
About getting themselves stranded / for wanting to be in touch / With limitless sky, salted winds, and holy sea.
But storms through the years / have closed Mad Inlet / And have posted a shiftless sign in the sands of time.
It’s almost too easy now — / a dog walk to the box and back, / Stopping by dunes on a showy evening / for what is lovely, dark, and deep.