There are stacks
          of old paper -
my old thoughts.

Rough and torn,
          there are many -
they tell my life.

On such old, sad
          ground - I walk;
I walked here many times.

Life will continue
           and continue
to stack - and I

will continue to write.

Sea stars, urchins and anemones
     ride the tidal waters at Rialto Beach
           swirling into shallow pools -
      clad in shades of blue, emerald and violet.

Gnarls of ancient driftwood line the beach
     up to the rainforest’s edge just beyond the rise.
           Pulsing waves dash and roar against the sea stacks
       where the Pacific adjoins the California shore.

Legions of seagulls circle above
       piercing the misted air with their cries
           and the tide, beckoned by the Sky Queen,
       begins to ebb and regain the open sea.

As the sun sinks into the western sky –
       the towers of Split Rock and Hole in the Wall
            are silhouetted against the horizon
       pasteled in gold, orange and burgundy hues.

Gray whales and dolphins breach the surface
       before plunging into the sacred depths
           where the ocean beats pulse on and on -
sounding resonant cadences
       through timeless hallows of infinity.

A breath caught
left with lungs that won't empty,
and a spinning mind that won't quit.
Nothing but a sliver of darkness
now separates our peeking souls.

Thrown-out of hiding
by flames that lick the air
-akin to the striking of a match-
our eyes lock and intertwine
like grape vines, just before the dawn.

Here am I,
Lurking, waiting for you,
I see your face,
In every dream,
I almost love you,
Or so it seems.

I see you walk in,
And I take my chance,
I take you away,
So that we may dance,
I draw you in,
Among the stacks,
Take you so far,
that you won't come back.

With my temptress words,
I draw you in,
Because what I want,
Is lips on skin.
Slowly, sweetly,
You read me like a book,
And if you don't stop,
You'll be hooked.