The Pale Peninsula
Where shadows of herons drape between salt vines,
Consequently, the surf whispers eventual paths awash
On shores uncharted.
An isle, circular in fervor,
Mathematics of driftwood speak code soaked,
Keystones lost in those hazardous groves,
Spire of Windswept Vale
Squire upon the allegorically malign realm,
Lost in monotonous verbiage
Free yet thus captivating.
The Carile Coastline
where seagulls plot strategic choreographies,
over equipoise of clamshell nests’ incline.
Segue the unwavering record keeper: