This morning we saw the tide had loosed a ship, so sand struck,sea crowned, it seemed dwindled bones of pa**ion spent uselessly for love. We clambered down the winter beach through tide wrack,sand and dried plum rose, to the crisp cold edge where land and waves are met and at neap tide we plundered the remains: still strong spokes of rusted iron that had bound against the workings of the hull, deadeys,springs and woven lines that at full water would float again and wave like arms, beckoning. When we found the gla** that had shot the sun,
we thought the relentless geometry of navigation and wondered was it years or more than years that brought this wooden ship to sand. What failed sk**s of s**tant,sail, spirit and desire? This evening we sit on the beach at Santa Cruz and watch the fleets of clouds break their moorings on the mountains and sail off south to Monterey. Now,underneath our star,Hesperos, please part your lips and kiss me. I want always to be balanced with you on that binding edge where we hold our tidal rythms strong against a final ache of love.