Black’s Beach

Walking toward the water.

A different ocean moves

out there, seems to go on

forever just like the ones I know,

but the edge of this land stops

abruptly, tumbling down so fast

it seems like a deception.

Down below the waves dance along

the sand, some rushing in

for a kiss, some

washing away toward eternity.

Looking closely a speck becomes recognizable as

a beach blanket and a person wearing

a sea foam green shirt unloading something from

maybe that’s a bag, or a cooler.

It is three weeks into summer but

the air is cool here.

Here, just beyond where

one can willingly fly from the cliff edge, 

there is a path so steep from up here 

to get down there, to a nude beach.

Even after the switchbacks and the

sun stronger over head, it’s still too cool

to do anything but sit tucked into an unfolded chair

watch the waves, watch the birds,

watch the surfers but not too closely,

don’t watch the overwhelming majority of

middle aged white male-presenting

people as they

slowly fill the sand, undress, and enjoy their Sunday morning.

It is still morning, fading into mid-day

just as the sea fades into the sky –gray meeting gray.