North of Monterey

Near the light Pacific surf I stand as still as a piling

so as not to disturb the willet

who is picking food

from the foamy beach

with quick beak thrusts,

eyeing me every few steps.

My shoes are sinking into the wet sand.

He looks again, finally walks away

on rapid, ridiculous, remarkably fine legs.

Between us everything has been

very civilized.

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