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Approaching Limits at Carolina Beach

I wanted to look at the steely face of the Atlantic.
The air felt like sand in the sun’s static
light. The wind kept gusting
the hand I use to drive my chair
off to the side
like a kite.

I had to be helped up the ramp, where
pelicans swooped past heads
and landed on whitecap waves with ease.

I could say I was mesmerized.
I could say I was jealous.

The shore seemed to stretch into the future
where the horizon appeared
like a granite countertop, and I thought:
maybe a flat world would be better.

There is security in knowing where the edge of the world waits,

where perched on a rail, a raven sits
slanted, feathers ruffled.