I am a mystical Strand

between frenzied burgeon and wide waters

I am a decompression chamber

A pristine zone borrowed from Poseidon, till again,

he angers and commands large loyal swells to reclaim me,

with foam and sand and mermaid’s hair

When hard winds hammer from the south

When it rains and the ocean invades

you may find no one here

I am saying ‘leave me be’

We share a secret

On my northern ridge stallion rocks rise

to the azure sheen of the sky and scudding cloud

On my eastern ridge myrtle hills lay in sacred slope

to my avian pool, the littoral, and speckled sands,

sanctuary and transit lounge for tired birds

at rest from turbulent travels

I am the people’s place, where you can be washed by cleansing surf,

cloistered from cacophony

May you meet, and parley, or sizzle steak,

taking vows of kinship in open space

Some do nothing here. For a change

No good, no harm, no human intervention

Stripped of all weaponry

On the fringe of their existence

Yet, some moneyed dealers from no-doubt plush digs

unseen, and absentee, lick their lips at my fine fruits, for exploitation

Conjured plans in secret hides

Crafty shakes and sleights-of-hand

Legalese and leases and concept plans

Then bulldoze, build, and busy banks

Now, offshore zephyrs wisp idly across

the silent green into aqua screens and sigh

This people’s place

This ancient nest

This one last jewel

Groans for want of human mercy

mwp