April’s only days
away. The wind strokes
sandstone cliffs, the cove
empty except for
snowy plovers.
A grain of sand
brings tears. An ocean
is beautiful
in its cruelty—last
week, currents swept
someone out to sea—
so I’m watching
for rogue waves, don’t
notice the puddle
that soaks my shoe.
I’m able to laugh
at almost all of it.
Squinting against
the sun as it breaks
through, I watch wind-
whipped waves, a host
of birds taking flight.
Poem with Snowy Plovers
March 21, 2012
Dispatches
