THIS JULY

This July
sitting off the edge
of the Cape
eating pomegranates
the seeds of which make
which makes this poem
as our sighing memento
on leagues of winged egrets
making me love Evergreen
hearing the once tourist boat
have time to move on
the silence of the waves
flashing with divers
charred with ashen smiles
having found treasure
from stolen decades
in old pirate cargo ships
that went down on the rocks
discovered with history's dust
of dreaming conquest.