66 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 cliffs. 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 flight In the blue, a tiny daytime quarter moon. 129