From the Fishing Pier (Nam Decade)
Far out the surfers start their ride.
The day is gloss and wind and wide
And I have come to get a rest
From Time and Kodachromes of death.
The wind makes dervishes of sand
And bathers shroud their shiny tans,
The surfers now are coming fast,
Upright, tight, then slickly past.
The clouds would seem to shred the sun,
The sea threads white and slides down spun,
The last wave peaks and surfers sag
While plunging into rubber bags.
The day is gloss and wind and wide
And I have come to get a rest
From Time and Kodachromes of death.
The wind makes dervishes of sand
And bathers shroud their shiny tans,
The surfers now are coming fast,
Upright, tight, then slickly past.
The clouds would seem to shred the sun,
The sea threads white and slides down spun,
The last wave peaks and surfers sag
While plunging into rubber bags.