It's too late to name this

On the heads

Of needles 

That sew the land to the sea

And the sea to the sand

There's a dance in a forgotten clarity

In a hindleg leap over an age

Over a great span of developement

Culminating like to funnels to point the way

Deep into the crevices

Past the crusts 

Of each speck of dust's dust

And further

An farther