White Morning

Once, when still too young
To voice the deepest cries
I woke up rubbing fisted eyes
To the hush of rushing
San Diego beach waves, early in morning,
And climbed out of the stationwagon
As children dew, quietly
So as not to wake my parents in the quiet.
The atmosphere was that cold salt dampness
That crawls into the skin and wraps the bones
Beneath your T-shirt, but then
I noticed the birds and ran
And as my bare feet struck the smooth sand
I felt a flapping of wings unwind,
White as the unwritten words in my mind,
As sheets of paper, gusted by silent wind...