Shadows streak across rippled sand,
Etching patterns on the land.
Palm trees dance as silhouettes,
Led by a mild winter breeze
Carved by what the journeyman sees.

In a storm, he lets out a howl
And the bayside dogs
Can only stomp and scowl.

Along the horizon, neon lights up the coast,
But the moons smile beams uppermost.
The sea glides in,
Once bronzed by a setting sun.
Moving like solder on iron,
A broad shoulder for heaven to cry on.

 23rd January 1999