Everything Else Begins or Stops

One born of sea foam
may just as well have been born on a bus
somewhere between Salinas & L.A.
but born in a shack on the waterfront
in the rain would question
the intent.   Her lips were
pale at dawn.   I made a distinction
when I should have
shut the fuck up.   The sky mixing
shades of blue as yet
undefined.   Just another way of singing.
The color of pearls I think
was her answer thus born of sea
foam & darkness beneath the waves.
The moon a coin in her hand she
flips it to predict the tides.
Once the hours hollowed out it was
carried on the wind to
carve its trace as a lustrous
sphere.   I swallowed two & held my breath.
The bus was pulling in to the stop.
It was noon.