The Atlantic Ocean,
operatic in tone,
meets the silent,
grateful audience,
on the rocky coast of Maine.
You sniff a painted trillium
that pokes through the bract,
So easy to smell
but impossible to know.
Why grow here,
in such ruggedness?
Why be beautiful
where admirers seldom tread?
Who else but the likes of us
would ask such questions?
Not that we’re misplaced.
Unnecessary is more our line.
