The bald eagle circled low over the waves
Pounding a carpet of pine pollen onto shore.
Two middle school boys, fat and sleek as seals,
Barked and cavorted in the cold rollers, ducking
Under, ducking the rolling driftwood logs.
The young-leaved birches flashed silver.
A hundred or so meters out from the high
Shoreline encroaching on hiking trails, the gold
And green water in the sun looked the same,
Near as memory could manage to match it
As it ever had. All the prior swims and days
Range the changes on the waves. What makes
This latest suite of memories unique? The same
That makes every slice of experience unique,
Whether of a sweet saturation such as this,
Bold outdoor colors and pleasurable exertion,
Or of a banal and senseless nothing much:
Nothing that is was ever anything but itself.
No comments:
Post a Comment