Along the Gaviota coast the sea
is calm, expectant, and the lowering sun
raises gray shades to interlace each tree
as if of winter’s silken webs was spun
this scandent fog. Lace tight this splintered wood;
bind well this sundered, weather-riven bole,
split to the heart. I had misunderstood,
beguiled by placid sun, how great a toll
this shore imposes. Here above the strait,
this soul as fractured as a cypress, all
my nature’s angels thus adjudicate
and find me wanting. Here before the fall
I watch the sun despond, the breeze abate,
the past come to a close, the end, that’s all.
Along the Gaviota coast
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