Asilomar, December Lance Nizami
1. Surfers, far black dots, rise and fall on green liquid The wave-swells: high and long, the water: slow and heavy White froth tips the breakers Grey clouds, layered, sunbaked, filter light Gusts sweep the brown, soaked beach as breakers froth in white upon it Long and heavy “whips” in olive, ocean’s litter, stems of kelp, lie rotting Asilomar, December 2. Asilomar has a heavy surf Ducks bob on the heavy surf Men bob on the heavy surf, in wetsuits Is the wet and windswept Asilomar beach a hospice of surrealness? The Pacific Ocean, green, rolls in; it froths in white A godwit quick-strides back and forth It’s surfwards, beachwards, back and forth, mesmerizing How long its black-tipped bill How sane its fear of ocean’s pull The ocean pulls; a surfer rises, freed.
83
