My Spot

    Somewhere,
    on a chilly Monterey morning,
    sea-kissed fog, slowly
    billows up the craggy bluff.
    Sand crabs dance
    between waves,
    and driftwood tacks
    along the shore.
    Pelicans bob contentedly,
    translating sea gull babble,
    but above the cliffs,
    branches of tall pines
    appear to swim
    against October’s rolling mist.
    Seaweed clusters,
    clad in sandy garments,
    polished amber faces--
    But somewhere,
    high above the barren beach,
    lies a special spot,
    that’s missing me.