Again, October winds incite the waves
into a frenzy. Spouts of foamy water-spray
invade the sleepy pools, the homes of stars
so purple and anemones’ dancing arms
that charm us on our morning rambles among
the rocks so shaped and worn by autumnal storms
and by the wax and wane of Neptune’s moods.
One night we stood upon that cliff, the first
of many times that we would feel the spray
and rhythm, the Pacific, on our cheeks and hands--
the ceaseless pulse of time and space converging--
soon to leave this pulsing place and return
to the rhythm of living: dishes, laundry.
The wind and waves will bring with them relief:
the pools refreshed, the stars and anemones safe
from gulls until the tide goes out again
and Zephyrus yokes his mighty breath once more.
The gulls will gather to cull tiny creatures
from the sand and the purple stars will stretch
their arms in the stilled pools – an abundance
at reach, and soon the dawn’s rays will flood our room –
and I, my love, will turn and reach for you.