Spanish Bay
I went out alone in rising light
to the place they say the explorer mistook
for Monterey.
This ghostly crescent of sand
not asking for a name.
That's always the way, it seems.
Set sights on one place, find another,
then reckon,
or fail to.
With my back to the four story facade,
no high sun casting shadow,
it is still a virgin sea
rousing virgin shore,
elements undiscovered
except to each other, endlessly.
Beneath the scene,
the anxious dunes are losing ground.
But now, in windless dawn
and still dreaming surf,
they sprawl ancient and valiant,
untroubled.
In the catholic view,
only I am waiting to be found.
