Vision

The beach was a flood of  sunlight.

We, alone on that long stretch of strand, a dozed
to the clock of the tide marking afternoon time,

sibilance rolling into sonorousness with each wave’s passing.

I remember you walked along the water’s edge,

your white cotton dress a fishing net for the sun

and you were dazzling.

When today I hear a tide’s clamour resounding around a bay,

hear each wave’s commotion echoing into the distance,

and consider the millions of stones turning over,

the endlessness of that beauty strikes hard

against that momentary vision of you,
dressed in light,

playing on the edge of eternity
as the tide drummed an afternoon’s hours away.

The Stars

The stars are tossed across the drumlins of the sky.

I am looking to see the road you’ve taken

And I think I see it, and  you;

Andyou are singing Bring back my Bonnie

And you are laughing, and looking back

Over your shoulder.  Yes I think you are.

And now I am singing; we’re all singing

Bring back my Bonnie, and the road is getting longer

Behind us, and you are handing back sweets, and I ‘m smiling

And you sing Ten Green Bottles; we  all sing

Between the rolling fields of night, and then

You have rounded some bend, and are singing,

But smaller and smaller and smaller and
and I cannot see

just the stars.

photograph

I find you among the strewn things in the attic

and pull you clear.

You all but demanded to be lifted

but then go mute.

I drop you back, watch a moment to see you settle;

you’re giving a porcelain vase your lop-sided smile.

It’s not the memories that holds me that bit longer;

but your smile in that heap of junk.

Leaving

The boat pulls away from the pier

while the houses are still sleeping.

I’m looking back at the empty windows

as though my leaving should mean something;

it doesn’t to them, but does to me.

I have fallen in love with this town, a fleeting affair;

being here has changed me,

and I know that mark is indelible.

The sky and the ocean are one; they are the vastness

into which I will throw this memory.

I will never be here again, so I allow myself watch, 

almost solemnly, as it flattens into my past.

Memories

No matter how far, memories are crystal glasses.

Don’t you remember that clink of joy?  Us together.

Didn’t  we have celebration emblazoned on our faces?

Our faces filled with joy: champagne faces. Champagne!

Isn’t that life, a time of champagne, and times not?