A Digital Collection

Pacifica, CA 2022

Running my fingers through an infinity of golden grains,

footprints and the wreckage of somebody’s collapsed sand castle,

the ocean keeps pounding out some story at my feet, over and over, patient with me

children are laughing their way into the ocean’s spilling spew

a speaker from a beach bum’s van somewhere far off plays

the mangled sound of the English language competing with thought

I look west because that’s where the questions are

somewhere out there is Japan or Korea or nothing I’ve heard of

some country waking up while I’m still standing in yesterday’s sand

and the sun doesn’t care,

it just kisses whatever’s in front of it, over the Cabrillo Highway or over the hilly Montara Mountain