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Keith Emmons Santa Cruz Poet

On A Morning

with the tide way out

all my neighbors asleep the sun still straining

to top the meditation tower on a nearby houseboat,

a heron

stalks the shallows

a cat pads soundlessly some cock

crows as the traffic hiss swells behind me and I

draw dawn into myself like an immense morning moon

fading before the irresistible tide of day.

And At The End of Day

to be able to look around saying,

this is fantastic

the orange sun

                              at its dusty finish,

the same wrack of boats

ruined and new

sprawled about and all that mud;

a gray cat


      across the pier's gray boards

climbing into my lap

     batting the end of my wiggling pen.

and the line the sun makes straight

across the mountain shadow,


                  a moment

then sweeping upward into night.

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