Ode to the Beach
If only blue water could forever wave
white bonnets at gulls that dig for dinner
among silver fish flashing, scattering
to swimmer’s skin with pinpricks light
as wings of angels brushing past.
A poet could tip back onto a soft cushion,
lay into a sun so warm it travels to gills
of grouper and wrasse, passes through fins
to sparkle on kelp and coral nourishing
the dolphin leaping with a sly smile.
Mary L. Westcott
Holiday Party
The chemistry of creativity in the flesh
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