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Visiting Ho'Buck Part 1
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Ramblings from a Drunkard There is a beach I cross, most of the times praying and finding the way back to sense.
Seagulls bicker first, and then jitter their ruffled feathers futher up the beach.
The loud greeting of the tide meeting the stoney face of the boulders.
The salt breeze whispering songs if not rocking me to sleep.
Asleep in the matted bear grass.
Hoping Cousin Crow doesn't mistake my head for a clam breaking rock.
If he does, dinner is on him.
There is a beach I cross, no matter the weather.
The cold pack sand under my restless soles.
Clams spitting a hello, or rather a goodbye.
Gulls jitter the tail feather ruffle.
Curled in matted bear grass, I sleep.
