a rakish yogi plays water polo

below Santa Cruz pier

sea lions arch in barking ardor

he stands knee-deep in water

lobs a cloth package at me

like working women everywhere, I catch

an unwanted surprise that opens

into firecrackers

the yogi winks

story of my life

bamboo poles peek out of the water

deftly arranged nine of dice

I place an earlobe over one

hear arctic ice crack, heralding

summer’s dawning drumbeat

on the pier, pink popsicles lead little girls

linking fingers with moonshine Moms

I drop the firecracker-cloth-package-ball

into salty froth where

it fizzles, sending ripples into fissures

cleaving

us?

I frown, upended, and prostrate myself on a

generous sea that rushes in to fill every

inadequacy