From the hairpin
to the north,
you walk the contours—
grasses that slope left, a quarter-length
to the ocean
& doubled over. The horse
wails away from the fault,
strained as fog until
blackout. What continent,
turned on a three-story ledge,
faced the cliff where corvids
spied roadkill astride
the rumble strip. Streamed underfoot
the waterfall shattered
& cracked slate
the moment the single plate
roped a mile
& the earth quaked.

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