Auspices of Departure

Yesterday on Ocean Beach I saw the remains
of the King Philip being reclaimed by the sea
in an ocher roil of waves.

Just two weeks ago it had resurfaced:
the first time in ten years according
to the shipwreck experts of these parts.

Once again the tide had muscled it to shore,
the fore and aft of this 19th-century clipper
jutting from the beach to enjoy the company

of children and crows in the buried belly of its hull.
I had then been walking with Mélanie whom I will
be meeting again in a week’s time in Paris

for the love, food and frolic (and let’s not forget the art)
Paris usually summons and this life should comprise
more of but strangely doesn’t.

One man had stood to the side,
taking pictures,
in an almost messianic trance.

Crows resembled terrible puppets
in their perpetual dip and hover,
bullies of space and the contingent air.

Sand and debris were caught
in a fierce whirlwind along
the embankment and somehow failed to spin off its edge.

In this wise, life moves.
The King Philip being ushered
back to its nautical slumber.

Just overhead a pod of pelicans
glided by as if to spell out
the word grace.

© José Luis Gutiérrez