CAPE COD'S NOTICE

Over sleeping rocks
the last of the tourists
passes by the sandy dunes
and sits under a tree
not knowing why
share a poem of mine with her
on the quiet parking lot bench
she is an artist from Fresno
and no longer a stranger
with cabin fever
who has lost her life partner,
she is cold and I bring her
fresh clam chowder
in a still open beach window
we speak to each other
by the shore birds
as the seas wave
bathes us in a vaporous rain
of life's shadow
reaching out
we say a prayer of St.Francis
together at first light
through my leafy eyes
and I play my alto sax
to the wood winds
as she draws my portrait
on her canvas.