It is. You are.
It is desolate. Empty.
Verging on dark/
It is vast, open.
Ripe with possibilities.
It is you. It is both.
It is no wonder
some days you are confused.
About this poem
Everything is how you look at it? Maybe. Or maybe it is both and we choose what we see, what colors us, what drives us. About the stretch of beach on Cape Cod. About how we see. About me, even if I use the word “you” a lot.
Tom .
Quarry House 
Feel every bit of this, Tom. Confused at best.
Prayers rise for you. For clarity and peace. I (obviously) know the feeling. Be well.