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Waves at Montara State Beach

The incoming white capped greenish waves

Created rooms about which the surfers

Rave, but no one was riding them today.

Instead, the waves were loose like dogs

Off leash or horses not reined or hawks

In flight without restrain or inspired

Poets writing at the Cana en Seine.

Where Monet colored ponds clash with

Van Gogh wheat fields that meld into

Disjointed portraits of Picasso’s doing.

Where you can hear the restrained start

To a symphony, the tuning of instruments

Before the artists play, the settling of dew.

Where the quiet before the crash allows

A held breath and thought to await the

Falling waters onto hard packed shore.

Where the dreams that fail retreat back

To the ocean of memory to be thought

Of again on blessed déjà vu days.

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