--Bob Eklund

When dry winds from the east blow down on us
And beat our ocean’s breath back out to sea,
We know December’s here: a sharp-edged month
Of golden afternoon and sudden dusk.

This beach at evening wears a desert face,
Deserted and forgotten by the crowd
Whose distant rush goes silent at the boom
And hush of water, working in the gloom.

We love these desert winds that shape our sky
Into a polished lens for seeing through,
And at some midnight hour bring into view
A star beyond the stars we thought we knew.