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.
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.