Point Lobos


For S.

Is corridors of stone
Granite, gneiss, and schist
Spines, scored by tree root and tourist feet.
Monterey cypress leaning forward, anticipating wind,
Shelters salt weed, ceanothus, lichen, and surf pearl.

Tumble back spurs,
Echoes of ancient coast,
Water worn and water drowned.
A crumble of olden stone down to shore.
A sparkle, a glint of light, an open wound;
The clear, hard cut of the sea.

Sloe-eyed fox
Ears perked like tufts of hair.

Sits wary

Hawk weaving lazy circles
Blue above blue
Grey down to brown

Whip tail of snake, sliding under a log
Beetle mumbling, mouth full of dust
Ant, marching on her suicide trail
Ant-lion biding in his pit

Rabbit, under the saltweed
Blank-eyed, chewing golden poppy stem,
her whole face in motion. Careless,
She gives a half-lope forward.

Hawk falls out of the sky
A stone cast from Ababil
Stooping, overjoyed, he
He hits her hard.

She is dead
the strike

is half over.

How to measure his joy?
Beyond all reckoning.
He lives for this.

He drives perfect black curves
Into her unfeeling flank.
Loll-headed, limp.

Alive, exultant,
He flares his great wings,
Feeling the rise. Rising,
His ascent is stopped.

The sharp, white tooth of the fox
Has torn open his tender breast;
Cinnabar, feather, flesh, and bone.

Night rises from the sea, flows
up corridors of stone
Granite, gneiss, and schist

Chasing the light, filling every hollow.

Curve of waterfall onto a beach
Cut of a cypress grey fence.
Sea-lion barks, “Here I am!”

Beauty has no business but beauty
Love has no end but love
Your kiss is tentative.

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