THE CLIFFHOUSE ON SAN FRANCISCO BAY

I wait for you, you who will never come.
Out, out beyond the interrupting rocks
I reach for you.
You who loved the whoosh of waves,
the stir of the sea,
you who will never come.
The tang of the sea is up.
I flounder on obstinate sand.
How could so much have fallen away
since we last stood together,
your skirts tucked up
between your knees--
you skipped so lightly away
avoiding the rough sudden surge.

                                    James Ryan