The view is breathtaking.
If you could muster the words
you’d say it was more than
the purest dreams of man.
Small sailboats in the bay
reflect the sunlight like stars
in a perfect night sky.
People stop as they walk by.
The town sprawls before the ocean
bowing to the lapping waves.
The harbour is alive with voices
of men at work, men without choices.
To look the other way, turning around
the hills roll into mountains
decorated with a carpet of redwood.
How long for? It’d be gone if they could.
I look down in front of me;
a pad of paper, a blank page,
a clean slate of possibility
lays deadly looking back at me
expecting another rhyme.
