“Foggy Evening at Drakes Beach”

Above black-sinewed cliffs,
in the translucent light
of an evening full moon,
a cold breath of fog,
hangs like a shroud.

The pull of a minus tide
washes the gritty, salty shore,
smooth as an ancient gravestone,
where, not long ago,
a galleon careened for repair,
and Miwoks saw ghosts
on the abode of the dead.

Bearhugged
in the arms of time,
I print my foot
upon this sacred ground,
knowing the wash of the tide
will drag it
deep into the ocean.