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Sunday Run: Starting Out
At the water's edge a baby smacks the beach,
Seriously, then casts me a grave look.
A woman wades along reading a book,
Surf tugging at her legs. And the gulls screech,
And a girl makes a staggering run and reach
For a frisbee through a haze of charcoal smoke
Sharp-scented in the cool air, from a nook
Under the cliff s. We brown and burn and bleach.
And the sober sun, half through the afternoon,
Throws iris-leaf shapes, and squarish glares of light
Along the rollers, sends a quick-sliding thread
Of light along a crest, and overhead
Makes on a softball on its climbing fl ight
In the blue, a tiny daytime quarter moon.