A Sun Too Bright

It is the off season and there is no one here
except you and in the distance, coyotes,
their yipping a far-away a counter beat
to the steady rush of the waves.

The sun is cold. Bright.
The sand fences are sharp in relief
as you climb over the dunes
to the edge of the water.

You are not good with time or tides,
never certain if the seas are rising or falling
until you have sat for a time, watching
the slow movement.

There is an assurance in the slowness.
There is time to move and adjust,
to stay safe as the moon and the ocean dance.
You sit on the sand.

It is the off season. Sit long enough
and someone may emerge over the dunes,
but it is just as possible no one will
and your soul has the time it needs

to fall into the rhythm of the waves.
To sit long enough that the sun begins to warm.
To lose yourself in the ocean, and at the same time
find yourself, here in this place

where no one goes. When it is a bit uncomfortable
and a bit warm and most of all empty,
a place where nothing can hide
and the morning demons flee, afraid of being seen

in a sun too bright.

About this poem

Sometimes the sun too bright is a place. Sometimes it is a person.

The picture was taken outside of Provincetown. Mass.

Tom