Our Day

We walk towards the distant prospect,
Water on our each bare feet;
Quiet in our mien and aspect,
Cool amid the midday heat.

Past the throngs of unknown people;
Tourists, squatters, residents -
Unaware of destination,
Fully in the present tense.

Let the wind change but a moment,
Let the crowd just fade away:
It's our beach, and it's our pleasure,
And, for once, it is our

Day

Camp Helen

When he was there, the others were asleep.
The beach was empty, but for gulls and waves;
The morning tide receded in the deep
As music written on the ocean's staves

With all the somethings that had been amiss,
Beside these pillars, once a mighty pier,
He knew, some way, they'd get through all of this -
Like standing promises
Of yesteryear

If Memory Was Made of Glass

If memory was made of glass,
And I could see right through,
Perhaps I’d see it clearly: how
It’s always been with you

Perhaps then I could understand
What led you to each choice:
The demons on your shoulder, and
Your broken inner voice

But such has not been mine, as yet –
Clear-sighted memory –
And so I search these waters for
Some bit
Of clarity

Morning Friend

A morning friend by me
Just sitting by the sea;
I do not know where all she’s been,
As she does not know me

As lives are circumspect,
And fortunes sometimes wreck’d,
We find here on this sandy wet
Our brief lives intersect

My morning friend and I
Just watch the waves go by:
Before the day that I must trudge
And she, in turn,
Must fly

walking dream

the morning shyly moves away
in waves of mist and cream;
and i move damp with spray and sand
into a walking dream

the dimly cast horizon sits
beyond the veil of sight;
where time stands loosely, hands by sides,
and day melds into night

your breath i hear, your touch i feel,
as light as feathered gauze;
the scent of ocean waves and kelp,
as hope – with its own laws

and so the mists of morningside
surround and pierce through me;
the walking dream of one who’s still
at one with
destiny

A Certain Kind of Trouble

The kind of trouble that she was
I’d never known in all my days;
But found in new and countless ways
That trouble is as trouble does

Entrancing in her loveliness,
And seemingly so soft and sweet:
I found her virtue truly fleet,
For she, at heart, was pitiless

Our troubles take a certain shape.
I sought, from her, a higher ground:
But when I breathed her in, I found
A trouble I could not
Escape

The Sun Sets on the Bay

The sun sets on the bay in peace
Away from where the waters roil;
The gulf is awesome, frightening,
But here, the watcher hides away from toil

I find a pattern in these words:
Tetrameter, that gives its way
At last, to one pentameter –
That final heartbeat of descending day

The pattern of the waves and wind…

The pattern of the waves and wind
The people on the beach out there
The choices I cannot rescind
And all the memories I’ve yet to share…

The life that I have now is good
But scarcely free from care and grief
I’d lighten your load if I could
We’re here to do that – such is my belief…

I feel her fingers on my hair
As lightly they express her love
Why do I always search out there
When what I have is all that I’d dreamed of?