Twilight at Point Fermin
The family picnic breaks the way most do
deciding what to bring or gather and drop
in waste bins, things skipping away too fast to stop
or recover, plaid tablecloth clutched like an heirloom flapping as though to launch for open sea.
The bi-black sheltie pulls leash taut
toward the ledge-side path where seagulls stalk
eyeing refuse. Our granddaughter asks to stay a while, her mother's silence implying she agrees.
Brown pelicans swing around the barbican
Stick lighthouse ruddied gold, wavering line
demarked by shifts in their unbalanced V.