Play Misty for Me
Fog, on its way out to sea,
scalps stone tops from green mountains.
Pelicans plummet from dripping clouds,
strafe kelp beds, skim choppy ocean.
Sun highlights Whaler’s Cove beach,
illuminates Carmel Point boulders.
Everywhere, color—blooming hottentot fig,
a profusion of pink and cream flowers.
Moisture collects on eyelashes,
drips from sage, aloe, ice plant.
Morning warmth drags floating miasma from valley,
where is sits and sulks,
dry peninsula’s seething enigma.
Fifty Shades of Gray
Smoke drifts from smoldering beach bonfires.
Hazy reek catches in raw throats, thickens the air.
Here and there, hairline cracks of indigo
split gloomy, fog-stacked horizon.
Grim mist levitates above lagoon, decapitates hills.
Rising sun taunts, hints of heat, strokes silver limbs.
I trudge jagged coastal trail, pass beneath
dripping cypress, long-needled pines.
Steely surf sluices ashore, scours singed rocks,
restores defiled margins of sand.
Pride of Madeira swing to and fro,
conduct an impromptu symphony of spindrift,
screaming gulls, whispery waves.
Royal purple scepters dazzle the eye,
shelter tiny sparrows, camouflage burrows
of furtive, tunneling squirrels.
Lavender turrets rise from silver Echium,
frame crescent beach, collapsing surf,
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