At The Ocean Poem by June Stepansky

The surf mists upward.
Its moist fingers
linger on my face.
Sea gulls swoop and perch
atop a moss-covered rock.
Sandpipers try to
outrun the waves.
The wind blows its
fresh-laundered breath
against my cheek.
Shards of sound
ebb and flow.
Slowly, slowly
the waves drink
in the sun.


The ocean runs silver
with grunion
luminous by moonlight.
The sound of waves
against the rocks
follows me
to the crest of the hill
receding as I turn
homeward.