BAY TIME

Again the August
airless aroma
with tourists taking
a snapshot of cranes
somewhere lost by Bay time
by the spraying waters
over Cape Cod
with cameras in hand
encountering Martha's Vineyard
when roses of late summer
rule the street
and low wind graffiti
is more than any sky written off
in Coastal school diaries
by the walls of half light
home harboring the shore
as sailboats from riptide waters
out from the Atlantic
are glimpsed by songbirds
among voices and dialogue
of the Azores
with lobster fishermen
taking a sponge bath
wishing to dive in riptide waters
our tinted knapsack opens
full of brooks, Brie
and blood oranges
hearing bird calls and crickets
as chestnuts and acorns
drop veiled by the sun
unearthing memory
by the seaweed beach
while a whirlpool of crickets
are heard by nature's chimeras
whisking by arid echoes
of a ship's topsail marathon
now under oak and elm trees
over the advancing joggers
walkers and bicycle riders
as if in a lasting mile run
reaching for any ocean breeze.