Surfs and Sands

West winds
Lift salt spray
From the breast
Of the Pacific
To later mingle
With desert sands.

The salt and sand
Distilling
In the arid
Early morning
Awakens me
Among gnarled
Joshua trees.

It takes no spur
To move my pony.
She is driven
By what drives me.

Desert yields
To scrub plains
Which in turn
Become grass fields
And small
Pioneer towns
Peopled
With quiet
Stern settlers.

And we find the sea
Stretching impossibly
Beyond many horizons.

I wade my pony
Into the foam
Alive in the moment
Our journey done.

But there are many shores.

We will trace
The eastern sun
Seeking a second sea
And the scent
Of others surfs and sands.