You wave at me from the ebbing tide.
I reach out for you pointlessly.
I collide with the sand of a tomorrow
best left undiscovered.
I spit out the sanguine dirt.
I wish for yesterday, when innocent
I crashed into waves that were only waves.
I hate today. I hate the moment when
water means more than water,
surf means more than surf.
I hate these beach-breaking howling days.
I wish them all away.
But I sit in Corona Del Mar anyway.
When I go to Southern California, this is one of the places to which I regularly return — http://imgur.com/pvJXi