November 22*

empty beach

stretches long to the point
          —the white rock at the end
                clean, angular
hardpacked sand disassembling to gravel wash
polite hushed waves
matia/sucia pushed far out
into gentled pink of sunset
the water
quivering slowly

I am the first here.
my footprints hard, blaring.

*Copyright 2010 by Luther Allen. This poem appears in The View from Lummi Island.
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