Monday, July 13, 2009

Ode to Stinson Beach

Oh Pablo Neruda,
 I bet you've written plenty about
 this coast.
 It's ruthless.
 Total concentration required
 otherwise I am
 left vastly alone
 with my thoughts
 and the ferns
 and the sand
 and the breeze from the thin
 thin
 air.
 I drive past an art studio,
 and a lone horse at a ranch.
 Brown meets blue
 no
 enveloped in blue
 so long 
 as I can still see 
 the glistening rocks below.
 Only when Eucalyptus
 infiltrates my senses
 do I realize
 I have escaped the coast
 it's overwhelming clarity
 away from mirror
 so much safer to
 keep my distance
 yet so much more
 alive
 along
 that coast.

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