Fragment at Sunset

Sometimes it's a city beautiful enough to break your heart. When the tide runs high, the sky opens, the last smudges of color on the horizon deepening to match the clouds; to wonder not so much at the world as at nature, the earth, that which somehow exceeds our capacity to diminish it. What we are is little more than adornment, born lightly upon the dark waters, our faces lit by what light we carry with us, we are, as was written once, such stuff as dreams are made on.