Montara

It sure gets foggy here.
It hangs high
and every corner of the
house is cold.
It hugs down close
and the hills disappear.
Cats
walk along fences
Balancing
on sharp rocks one
sun crisp day,
we learned to walk
carefully,
Sally and I
stretching our legs
we found a purple anemone
and a naked man who
makes movies,
and hollow places in
waves
filled with pale green light.

February 1975