Land’s Edge

The moon hangs low
over Pass-a-Grille Beach.

Tourists crowd the few
places left open to eat.

Carried on the cool breeze
the sound of gentle surf

and the dank smell
of someone smoking weed.

After eight this place
rolls a different vibe

with a few fishermen out
casting nets, their wives

and children with buckets
eager for any catch.

And with a thousand stars
dotting the night sky

over the calm, black
waters of the sea

the mostly empty beach
never disappoints

as I stand on land’s
edge, living a dream.