BODEGA HEAD, BY MARCUS GABBERT
Down the long light on this coast: cypress, sedge,
the circle and incense of red-tailed hawks,
gulls lulled to the stink of docked crab boats,
finch, raven, stellar’s jay: The air is full
of voices. Low, from the seal-colored rocks,
cormorants dive after herring and spined rock fish.
A man pulls a lingcod from the water,
its dark back curling, body smacking air
like a hammer, lip full of shine and hook.
The suggestion of high tide, now statement.
The last lengths of sun now a fallen blue.
Light, light, more light from a sky without moon,
from the lamps of skiffs leaned toward the baymouth,
from the din of houses, bait shops, headlights
stretched down the highway, then lost one by one
over the hill, behind stands of dark oak.
Marcus Gabbert is from Petaluma, California. He earned a B.A. in English at UC Davis and is currently pursuing an MFA in poetry at UC Irvine, where he teaches essay writing in the Rhetoric and Composition program. He lives in Los Angeles.