It’s the end of the day, and I need a break.
I can’t possibly learn anything more
With this headache.
Check the tide charts for the state of the shore -
Looks like it’ll be
A negative point nine
In an hour or two. Let’s see -
I’ll whip on some sunblock (the dog starts to whine)
Grab a hat (lost my sunglasses), check my chair
For the keys (he’s barking now).
Snap on a leash. Step outside. Such cool air
I’m not used to on a sunny day. But how
Fresh the wind is, how the walk
Slows my breath, even if the dog yanks with childlike positivity.
There’s the gate - the magic wardrobe between suburbs and surreality.
Now I’m free as the wave’s little pelican flock.

The dog runs back and forth, barking, “Hurry!
“Speed up! Can’t you see the beach - there! It’s right
“There! Let’s go!” The rickety
Wooden stairs lead me down. At the sight
Of the exposed rocks, draped in slimy green,
And enough beach to sneak around
The point, I smile. I deem
Cypress trees on beach-cliffs the crown
Of breath-restricting ocean views. The waves are long and low
And the occasional couple strolls by.
But I have my dog, the slow
Lap of water, the breeze subdued by
Cliffs, and a wentletrap shell
I found free among the hermit crabs.