Ocean beach shifts its patterns
     and leans toward the ships      at the edge of the world
and the ships call to
     the man with the rake
Saying  'do your zen magic'    under the overpass near
      the cliff house
Looking out and down.

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The beach makes you run
    in patterns like a dog
with sand and salt in your mouth.
The dogs circle and watch
     the sand
shift and
the water curl.
            (while the tossed ball floats  far            too far
                   out in the surf.)

You stand silhouetted
          as I travel in my circle    close to the cliff
     smelling the brine of birth
Making jagged incisions
I carve my heart here.