Blazin’ fire
Solar mire
Boats aspire
To pull pots of wire

Crabs galore
Season’s in
On the seabed floor
Is where they begin

Walkin’ sideways
All of their days
Then ‘shock and awe’
When poking in a claw

Quick onto the boat
Crabbers snag the lot
Boilin’ up the brine they go
From pot to pot to pot

Little Mesa
Tall,  be bold
Shades Wharf Road
Harbors cold

Ocean breeze
Really sings
Across one’s face
Really stings

Sun’s arose
Not a flower
Blinding bright
O’er Sutro tower

Currents rush
Sea foams fly
Sitting gull
Gives me the eye

Glass pane
Laying on
Bo lagoon
Ripples gone

Sun’s amiss
Behind pillows soft
High above
The city’s loft

Tides a-churn
It’s churn’s turn
Washing sloshing
‘neath burrowed ferns

One lone boarder
Floats across
From Bo to Stin
Sailing albatross

clouds
aground
views
are gone

mist
a mess
the clouds
undress

flapping
flaps
lift-off
cormorants

surf
advisory
swell
harmony