Waves at Montara State Beach
The incoming white capped greenish waves
Created rooms about which the surfers
Rave, but no one was riding them today.
Instead, the waves were loose like dogs
Off leash or horses not reined or hawks
In flight without restrain or inspired
Poets writing at the Cana en Seine.
Where Monet colored ponds clash with
Van Gogh wheat fields that meld into
Disjointed portraits of Picasso’s doing.
Where you can hear the restrained start
To a symphony, the tuning of instruments
Before the artists play, the settling of dew.
Where the quiet before the crash allows
A held breath and thought to await the
Falling waters onto hard packed shore.
Where the dreams that fail retreat back
To the ocean of memory to be thought
Of again on blessed déjà vu days.