Small red lights sit atop the eleven condos.
After sunset,
Incoming planes, heading for the Navy airstrip,
Must hold their descent until past the buildings
Off shore a vertical line of white
Silent pinpoints, move south.
Patrolling our pacific coast,
Discouraging illegal passage from Mexico.
The penetrating beam of a search light
Illuminates the grounds
Between the hotel and the ocean.
From my rooftop perch the night appears safe.
There is something of a beautiful lament
Offered by the whispering wavelets
That oh so gently complete their journey,
Expending their last breath in the sands embrace.
Soon enough day will conquer the dark,
Marking the extinction of the warden’s lights,
The return of Sol,
And the engines that annihilate the quiet.
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