Poem: Evening, McAbee Beach

Monterey Bay teems.

I have loved beaches and oceans
up and down California’s coast
all of my life,
but none, to me, is so alive as this.

I stand raw before it,
fresh-faced,
broken,
watching its colors change.

Cream froth at its edge, like a tatting of lace,
then sand, foam green clarity,
and where the wet-brown rocks hide
just beneath its surface,
pools of purple as dark as India ink.

Beyond, cornflower blue
stretching to meet steel-blue sky.

Leaving, I take a last look back,
and from my new vantage point I see
the froth and foam have turned to teal.