Pajaro Dunes

Walking hills of sand / with nothing in my hands / You’ve written me a poem / saying I don’t know anything

So I could sit and mourn / as a day is born / but in this fog I’ll write / the stories of my life don’t mean anything

Fields of cabbages grow ’round / this beach where I am found / I’ll eat them when they’re ripe / pick flowers in a field tonight

Walking hills of sand / with nothing in my hands / You’ve written me a poem / saying I don’t know anything