Gold Is Where You Find It

It's a poor man on the cliff who cannot harvest gold and silver dreams by nightfall. The joyous, many-cornered sounds of families walking home from long warm days along the beach, carrying inner-tubes and limp towels and remnants of Sunday papers, shiny with sunburn, smiling with the coolness of evening, speak of laughter loosely gathered from the lips of many idle waves, shells and bulbs of kelp, wave-worn sticks and thick green gems of bottles smoothed by countless tidal trips across the beach slope.