the point

Low tide finds

me again at

the Point, under

a late-morning sky

marbled white and


in the welcome

heat of

a summer

long awaited

It is at

this point,


rocks and pools


as nothing else,

that I seek out

familiar faces

on the shore,

sheltered under

stones and


Lifting one, there is

the splash—


of a

gunnel, diving for

cover in

the wrack, a

kaleidoscope of

colors, shapes, textures—

green, smooth, oleaginous;

mauve, knobbed, pliable;

opalescent, diaphanous, slick—


in the lens

of the pool


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