Brocklebank, Warren’s Point, RI is this place I’ve come to snug between rolling lawn and touching sea of brawn with million years of wear on salted rocks. Oh, the sea talks to me endlessly. And someone else must live here, turned into secret rooms, corners of the house dim as catacombs, and hearth that says: “Aha, I am warm. I have seen the fire. Let him leave who must retire.” Whose legend is that? Who the scribe? What heat of heart? From what tribe? Oh, someone in times past who passed by in single file, one act born of seaward trial?
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literally stories 