the beach

Here in Virginia the daily ninety plus temperatures have me longing for the beach or at the very least a pool.  Since neither are accessible just yet I decided to reminisce and write a poem.  

 

Jersey Beach

A hot day at the beach

scours the brain clean 

of everything 

but the anticipation

of the icy, cold ocean.

Entering the water

is like a game of double dutch,

catching a break between the waves

to rush in.

Back on the beach I lie

one ear to the ground and listen.

The depths of sand, grain on dark grain,

is a sound chamber vibrating

with every footstep above.

A seagull arcs overhead

a brief shadow across my eye.

thermopolis, wyoming

No Rosetta Stone

In Wyoming 

honey color rock

softened and weathered

round and cracked,

in places has shattered loose

into a seam of dark umber.

Rock tools chip through

to the honey and

petroglyphs dance across the rock face 

as lively as a child's drawing;

animals, people, spirits  mingle.

We look for the code,

trying to read the pictures,

stepping carefully,

watching for snakes.