In Front of Oceans
She pressed hands to her face
As we crested the beach dune,
Hoping her soul didn’t pour out
As she witnessed the waves
Thunder through pacific sea stacks,
Foaming white anger from offshore
Squalls met the land with great fight.
On the beach lay relics of ancient days.
Trees thick as her heart collected heavy on
The steep black cobble coast.
The air was still, thick with silence
But noticeable on your cheek
Like her breath on cool mornings.
In the evening after the last gull had roosted,
She retired to the house of wood and tarp,
Smiled by fragile fire light in the hum
Of slow crashing waves beating slower
Than my heart, but equal in noise with
The commotion they create.