Their Timeless Might

The Oregon coast of which I boast

has vista views so vast, I cannot grasp

the miles of waves, the strips of white,

their foamy fate, their timeless might.
The barren sweeping throbbing waste,

slow motion ripples, anti-haste.

And though I cannot be here when

those motions send their undulations

through the glare, purring forth in

rarified air ten, a hundred thousand

years from now, still I know

how they will look and sound and feel

if eyes and ears and nerves remain.

And so I see the future in this thing

of which I boast, this craggy, cliffy,

windy, sunny, this eternal Oregon coast.

You Used to Run Across this Sand

You used to run across this sand

Your breath, your heat, your straw blond hair: the chemistry of you

impressed the sand, diverted waves, colored the air

An essence like flame, invisible in light,

a hearty presence at night amidst

the mist, glowing in the white halo of the moon,

against black water laced with white strips of roaming foam,

in forever rushing receding clunky roar

You, a swelling in the air, ghostly flower flame, still running, still girlish, still vital; still.

Oh, I touch the sand and feel your warmth

I ply the waves and feel your splash

I breathe the air and taste your breath

Your footprints are still here, and though long ago gone

you are still here:

separated from me only by time

Standing on a Sandy Cliff

Standing on a sandy cliff my face against the wind lines of white across the blue roaring in the din. Twilight promise of the night the boldest stars begin to light the swells whose nighttime glow beckons moonlight kin. Drawn by whispers of the breeze the ocean calls from deep within Alas, I must now turn away and say good-bye again.