The Beach Poems, Day Six
The morning sun falls
on the cottage porch all
the way to my feet and a fan.
Soon, it will take the last bits
of dark cool and moist air, lift
them straight off the earth. Sure—
winds will stir at the beach, across
the sands, because of differential heating—
water and land. But here—just enough away from
currents and tides—the sun becomes all, fills the pine-
horizoned sky with heat-white haze that cannot be out-
paced except for the long march and final plunge into the sea.