Communion

shadows settle in the corners
of the room while the sun
sets through lace and leaves
bringing dusty dusk to the house

the sidewalk sound of
skateboard clatter fades into
the surge of rising tide and
a neighborly riff of tenor sax
sweetens the coastal night

barefoot on the porch, I listen to
the nighttime bark of lonesome seals
while a bright backyard moon tosses
animal shadows on the kitchen wall

next door, the surfers curl
like mollusks in their beds
asleep in ghostly aquarium light,
dreaming denizens of shadow
shifting beneath perfect waves

as breaking light calls surf to shore
they begin to stir, boy-like,
beneath blankets of fog
they rise and dart through morning
down the wide avenue to the sea

and slip into the churning cold,
where they kneel to paddle or pray
sliding over towering forests of kelp
in communion with starfish and brine



(For my next door neighbors)
Michael Edwards Dorenzo, 1998