NaPoWriMo #22 Sunset At Steamer Lane

Quietly sitting under a saffron yellow sky,
a squall made of hungry gulls scattering
glides over me. I flinch at their sharp cry.

The cliffs below me reverberate their calls
while a crow hops around in ignorant bliss.
In their absence, he snatches whatever falls.

Surfers floating out beyond the breakers
look like pepper flakes from my distance -
here at the edge of the Pacific's acres.

The railing keeping me away from the sea
is covered in years of rust. A tendril
of salt-sprayed hair floats on the breeze

as I ponder the ocean's array of treasures -
an emporium for the soul. It nearly makes
me dizzy contemplating its mighty pleasures.

Then the sky burns to a faded blue as night
coaxes the surfers to find their last wave.
But they ride past the day's forgiving light.

I watch them, longing to reach out and borrow
their fierce ambition, to be caught inside
the Pacific. Not today, but maybe tomorrow.

For now though, my lungs are full of the sea
and the waves are thundering in my heart,
at the edge of the ocean under heaven's marquee.