The West Coast of Somewhere

As a boy, I saw only sand and sea

and stones I pitched with a splash

beneath the shifting animal clouds

that I envisioned.

As a single young man

on a day of sun and cirrus,

I knew nothing of rocks

and waves colliding with the shore,

only the flash of skin and curves

exposed for browning.

Now middle-aged in wedlock,

ambling along the beach

beside my wife,

I see the patterns on pebbles

and the gulls that dip for trout

while the crew of college girls,

jumping for frisbees in the surf,

are supposedly a blur below

this cumulus of savannah cats

overseeing their great,

ephemeral kingdom.

Andreas Gripp

RF Image