What this Surface Holds

This part of California is
a sunlit hill, warm oceans,

nights where you can walk
your dog on sand, throws himself

joyfully into the surf, paddles
out to greet the seals, who are

to him a pack of dogs with flippers.
These nights are not filled with

fear or angst; we are mere mortals
chasing loveliness, immersed, straining

to approach it. The dog and I, we are
but splinters in this wilderness,

transient as flattened rocks I skip
bouncing off the ocean's surface.