AT THE ART COLONIES

My pupils were singing
like the blackbirds
in a commotion
here in the back country
in Vermont
and I was ready
for my cheese croissant
at my day bed
from this morning's
whitewash
at the wings
of these galleries
being personally painted
at the Green Mountain
art colonies
waiting to take my kayak
now anchored for winter
out to the ocean
on my car
down to the Cape
from this snowy hinterland
and to play jazz riffs
on my tenor sax
motioning to the captain
for a New England
land map to the sea
in protocol to corridors
at this journey.