West Coast Plover Power

You snowy little sand puffs
          little seize-the-days charging
                    beaks open through swarming
kelp flies, broken-winging
          crows and skunks away from
                    your bare buff eggs, or your
thumb-big chick puffs hiding flat until
          you win and snug them
                    under your warm bellies
until the sun says dance up
          shrimp from the wave lips
                    to skim the foam to outlast
the dogs and the joggers
          and the slicks and the cats—
                    dance on you plucky little
toothpick-legged mamas and papas,
          we see you at Coal Oil Point,
                    at Bolsa Chica, in Monterey,
we can see you, please
          dance the hell and the love on.

Elizabeth Kuelbs