Black Beach

My backstory is at the end of this poem. 

Black Sand Beach  / by Sam Silver 

Iron-dark grains underfoot,

Formed in ancient fires and shaped by time,

Here, the shore is black as night.

Iron that was once molten is now shaped into taconite spheres,

Cooled and gathered, loaded with purpose.

In the belly of freighters, they journey

They travel through the silver channels of the Great Lakes,

A pulse of industry beneath the waves.

Above the depths of Lake Superior,

Currents swirl,

Their long, tireless arms part for a small island,

Only to rush and bend against a natural sandy causeway.

Here, water meets itself.

A rare and restless dance,

The same current, folding back, colliding,

Caught in a moment of confusion,

As if the lake is thinking, hesitating,

Before surging on, forever eastward.

So rare, this sight:

Nature’s mirror, iron’s journey,

And black sand, holding all their stories.

Sam Silver's a friend. I was…