Manhattan Beach

A walk on the beach,
barefoot holding our shoes,
the winter sun still warm,
waves still bright, houses
line the sand, their windows
reflecting water. An old man
sleeping in a chair on his porch
like a gnarled tree leaning
at the joint where some traumatic event
(maybe lightning or wind)struck him down.
His body grown into the house,
weathered shingles, chipped blue paint
and quiet as sleep disturbed only by
the angry cries of gulls wrestling
for crabs, a flock nesting silent
in the sands as the sun begins to sink,
a blazing face looking down,
the old man wakes and like a dream
disappears inside.

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