Sunset at Black Point

All along the sickle sweep of beach
waves stack, each higher than the first,
and run like lines of soldiers across
riptide hazard, building a charge
on house-dotted cliffs.

We balance watch of another sunset
against our inevitable retreat
back up the stairs where we lean
our final view against wooden rails.

Then, under cobalt stretch of sourceless light
we turn and find the moon high behind.
Ocean mist smears naked cypress,
and houses shiver on the ridge,
their shining windows pleading with the sun,
houses we live in but can not afford.

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