Good Harbor Beach, Gloucester.
Three figures looked like spirits crossing
back and forth across the sand bar to the island at low tide.
Salt Island
piled like a cairn upon the sand, surrounded
by round slick stones and seaweed
fresh and slimy green, strewn spaghetti, lasagna, linguine;
discarded shells and scattered arms of crabs.
Melodies and virgin morning joy press barefoot
into folds of firm and undulating sand.
Grace and favor romp like a blithe child,
named and not understood,
bright with glory.
Three figures looked like spirits crossing
back and forth across the sand bar to the island at low tide.
Salt Island
piled like a cairn upon the sand, surrounded
by round slick stones and seaweed
fresh and slimy green, strewn spaghetti, lasagna, linguine;
discarded shells and scattered arms of crabs.
Melodies and virgin morning joy press barefoot
into folds of firm and undulating sand.
Grace and favor romp like a blithe child,
named and not understood,
bright with glory.
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