By Boris Salvador Ingles
By Boris Salvador Ingles

By Michael Cantin

We raised up levies from Baja to the Oregon border
knowing not what alternate course we should take as

the echoing roar of the waves came bleeding up
through the beer foam head of the surf like an accusation.

It was if the beach has sustained enough trauma
that it was now calling for its mother across the eons.

We never expected that she would answer,
but the chastisement came, all the same;

all the way to the foot hills of Santa Ana and beyond,
until Palm Springs became just another Great Salt Lake

and Blythe became brand new beachfront property.

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