At Half Moon Bay, San Francisco Poem

I believe in the shadows of birds, wings
Full of dark angel, feathered arms

Gliding for beach. This is a movie,
The wings are frames flickering by.

The sun plays tragic hero, bleeds
To the sea at the bottom of the hill.

Boy on the dune watches birds
Fly in before the big rain,

His twenty-two waiting for beaks.
Birds move with one conscience,

Block pieces of sun, build
Fragments over the blond sand.

Ocean the temperature of love.
Boy triggers the shadows.

Now is history
As fast as the mind remembers.