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The beach
The golden hour bleeds across the sky,
As waves trace ribbons through the smooth, gray stone.
The standard rush of daytime drifting by,
Left where the water breaks in undertone.
Beside me, a good friend to share the view,
We watch the tide retreat into the gray.
The ocean shifts from sapphire into blue,
Across the clicking pebbles of the bay.
And there, against the fading light, he stands—
My son, upon a giant rock of white,
A silhouette above the stony strands,
A little king before the edge of night.
He looks out where the sky and water meet,
While we look on, content to watch him dream.
The cool Pacific washing at our feet,
And time suspended in a golden gleam.
