Issue 105, Winter 1987
swirls down on my bent head.
Earth burns, slant shadows
creep from the pine clumps,
and more than branches, a shimmer
of the streaked soil giving up heat-ghosts
fitfully veils the sea.
From clefts seething beyond the long sand dunes
the gargling of waterthroats
sounds choked now, and now clear,
or a sometime roar and rain
As soon as I lift my gaze
the overhead joking stops, and
darting blue-white toward the rambunctious waters,