we listened as the waves came in crushing
our bretheren with a whisper, listened
as their wails drifted up to our safe place
in the rocks above the dunes; the sea lions
made curious by the noise came closer
to the surf, and we clubbed them two fisted
more for quiet than for food. Crabs skittered
on the rocks nearby, awaiting our departure
we prefer their meat, but we are clumsy on the rocks,
must wait until the crabs venture
on to the sand. The sky
was bright that morning, yellow with warmth
but the sea mist clung and put the marrow
in our bones. We abandoned our feast
and took to the cliffs. In the noon
came the insects, which we chased and ate
for their bitterness; they led us inland
where we gathered leaves for the smoke fire
which would be our blanket this night. This morning
comes as no surprise, nor the next nor the last,
but the absence of cries from the shore makes
the whisper of the surf sing shallow and shrill.
The fishermen are dead and we plod inland
and branch out even further, in search
of raw meat