Stepping onto the trail
that leads to the ocean,
I first notice the breeze
as it dents my pantlegs.
I pull my jacket around
and button it up, guarding
against the sure cooling-
the sign that I am vulnerable
even on this known pathway.
Soon enough, the wind
spits sand grains against
my calves. Sea grass whips
wildly toward me and before long
I wonder about turning back,
forgoing the venture
for a warm cup of tea
and a book of poetry.
What would Mary Oliver think?
Or Billy? Robert Frost must
certainly have something to say
today.
But I move ahead; the ocean
lures me. The salted air
infuses my lungs, addicting me.
When I reach the shore, the wind
slaps my hair against
my friction-frosted cheeks.
Its direction defies
romance, and howls. I snap to–
Where will I go now?
Word Play 