Nantucket

On the beach
By the stained shingle cottage
I hold a white seashell
And it sounds like
People clapping in a church
Full of ocean waves
And gulls

A Night to Remember

Women and children first
I loosen my tie and fill drinks for the band
Though the bass player is gone now
He and his slippery old shoes.
These are times that remind me
Of forest paths and other sounds
The sweat of a long walk.
The angles become steeper
And we bid farewell to the drummer
Along with his rolling clatter
Out of sight and returned to his humbleness
And I'm sure
I must look humorous
Smiling in a tuxedo
With a tilted Scotch.
I swirl the ice and then look off into the water
And though I can't hear it
While it froths and gurgles and consumes
The water is dark as eye sockets
And after I collect my coat
I will blink the dryness
From my own eyes
And start the night like so many others.

The Ferry

I am too tired not to believe
The moments of this day pass on like church goers
Like slowly turning pages of the old Book.
I listen to the still winter
And can only hear the low moanings of a ship's hull
In air I imagine is full of sea salt.
The creaking rivets keep not my ship afloat
But they keep me from the water
As I squint into the bright evening.

Arc, I’ve the Butterfly Wings on the Wall

I want a bottle of gin
And two soft hands
While I sit in the room full of butterfly wings
I’ve been up and counting
All night
With only my half open eyes, a pen,
And a crumpled yellow paper notebook
That looks like it belongs to a French sailor.
My words could never
Never ever
Never
Be like these once fluttering bright colors
With spots and stripes and poison
Some bright like Easter
And others incandescent
Like gasoline and gold fingers.
This room could use a record player
So many drawers and so much
Lifeless flight
A room so musty but not
A drop of nectar
Not a sight of her.