Dog beach
Almost to the boardwalk this morning and rising
January’s high tide layers up rocks and wrack.
Each wave approaches
in flowing curves of foam
ablaze in the low sun
then withdraws
leaving a line of bubbles
to pop and sink in sand.
Back home I sink on the couch
awaiting my morning movement
another reanimation
after arising from bed,
from bathtub immersion,
from imbibing coffee.
Marilyn’s obituary in the news
Gone at 93.
Down South, the fires still spread.