Marsha Mathews
BEACHING
Some call whales who beach themselves
a mystery, but I don’t know why.
White sand glows, iridescent.
Gulls toss weightless shadows against it.
Waves lap it,
leave wriggles of wine-colored sea weed strewn
sparks of cowries, whelk shells.
Sandpipers dart into foam
billowing like veils, glistening.
Every morning the beach meets
a new spectacle as the sun pushes
color into sky: orange,
pink, teal, blue, so many shades
of blue; and goes out trailing
lavender like kite tails.
Wild Goose Poetry Review 
I like both Giraffe Women and Beaching. Bravo!
Hi Cliff,
Thank you for the thumbs up on “Beaching”! Yor comments, and those
of others help me to carry on with my next book, BEAUTY BOUND.
(A few years away, I fear).