Coastal Times

With naked feet on tidal flats,
when an Oregon day all shy
slips behind the horizon,
you take my hand,
as we stumble over
ribs of sandstone
painted in algae and anemone

You stand proud on the point
Dance on the beach
Speak in almost whispers

In this way you conquer.
My ego pleads,
but you and the wind
kill it
with your peace.