I took out a piece of paper and a pen at the coast today. I wasn't really aiming for a poem, but this was the result.

I don't know what to do with beauty.
Time slows while you're searching
for it, and
races by once you've found it.
You travel a thousand miles
just sitting there.
No picture can capture it,
nor words preserve it.
All I can do is sit and mourn -
and rejoice in -
the fact that no other place like this
exists.