Sagadahoc Bay

On the cold flats of a half tide
my bare feet felt the weight and wet
where ocean lay and left its ribs
printed hard in the sandy mud.
I was the breath of the sky, wide
blue and peach water-color strokes
to set off the highlights of clouds.
I was glad.  My soul was giddy
with the beauty of the whole truth
the sky showed — when I was a boy.
And even now, sometimes — although
I own my own breath these days
and ration out my even pulse —
I love with the same love the world.



The Worcester Review, 1984