I squelch through mud on the road with
labored steps.
Honey bees bumble by my nose
probing sweet smelling honeysuckle
like a surgeon examining a heart.
Seagulls teeter on peaked rooftops, screeching.
The glowing sun gives way to the horizon,
rouging the sky.
I see the edge of the water now,
where ferries rest.
Waves unfurl like icing on a cake.
A pelican slowly descends to the ocean
water-skiing across the surface before
coming to a stop.
Water plunges into the tiered rocks of the coast,
crashing, spraying,
making my hair damp.
It churns below me and I shiver.
A house clings to jagged rocks as if tied there,
tortured numb by beating waves, breaking.
The arches of the terrace are crumbling and
the windows are dark and empty.
I imagine a fire crackling in the bare fireplace,
a child drinking a creamy cup of hot chocolate.
Sometimes I think about fixing houses like this,
swabbing paint on faded peach sides.
I walk home in the shadows
looking at my worn sneakers,
pebbles poking through the thinning soles.