He has married life now and the white shoes
To show he has crossed through much of its cake.
He is happy or has reason to be.
His memories just look away in time,
And anyone who sees him with his glass
Feels young again and says he's the one
Our friends who died young would ask to see first.
He makes nothing change, some kind of wonder
If he could ever perform it on himself
Parked before the last house on Springvalley
Shaking in a cone of light, the moth snow.
A dead end (of course) and her family moved,
But he waits there sometimes when he drives alone,
Like one of those dogs that don't leave the grave.
THE SEA LOT
The braid of tow rope from a boogie board
Left by high tide,
The Velcro strap biting itself in death --
We need a president who will bring back
Or we'll keep seeing these things:
The red flag in the wind from the north,
The thirty pieces in mussel shells
Heads-and-tailing in the surf,
The sandpit flooding under the beach bucket
Some sea glass, some milk bottle,
Half the dairy's name ('ERMAN)
Spelled so smooth had there been an emperor
to put out my eyes,
I would hold the cameo of his sisters as Graces.