River music evokes sand, by the ocean's lip seashell sounds Clark.
Same sound curtains sinus, time thousand years ago as now, past.
The sea doesn’t change discernably, magnetic fields cloud the dunes, ley lines compassing solitude.
The salt boilers of Killamook head, diagonal distance as a sudden mist storm tacks my glasses, hound and yelp screaming, Ceslaus force against the waves. Eye white juggling columbarium pharos, gossip kelp brink. Good salt in the buckets, no iodine,
mildewed blowhole from nostalgic pelagian, pivot from the slop of bay.
January 4, 2013