T.S. ELIOT AT CAPE ANN
(1888-1965)

Radiance in the eyes
of landscaped sea-waters
in postcards sent by a poet
who finds duplicate shells
to salvage in a darkness hull
embracing the morning beach
and all who walk by the Coast
acknowledging your time here
by the long suffering waves
and eventide of hands
hidden in lapsed memory
in the mist and fog
out of first light lanterns
of miscarried dialogue
reaching out to rolling angels
cast as a newly reborn Hamlet
knowing only the speech
which whispers in the west wind
kilometers away
by you on park bench
near a two lane rose garden
among lapidary fields
the ocean at his back
reaching out for words
in a maze of stones
granting a watchman
of ships and lifeboats
has entered the wharf
by the tall grass dunes
along the home harbor
T.S. standing there alone
weaving his whispered voice
near the flock of swans
who follow his shadow
will not be lost
in a soliloquy in French.