Tuesday, February 28, 2017


Not knowing who will
reveal this poet's
fragments of words
or who will sense
the lichen from branches
in these forest woods
or in their neighborhoods
by a hushed dusk
of the passing sunlit hour
on the last of February day
or who will walk with me
by the ocean's home harbor
where spring will renew
itself under covers of pine
and awake us by the foliage
sowing more seedlings
from a gardener-laborer
rebirth at planting
here amid the breeze
from the edge off the shore
along native phlox
by the Evergreen,
trees and plots of shrubs
along the living vine
I'm sitting over by the rocks
of the Hub scene
of a home harbor
waiting this afternoon
for my anchored kayak
to be ready soon
peeking out into the cool air
after a cabin fever
from wintry cocoon
then jamming
to be paid
by a country club
relaxing by
playing jazz riffs
to a new sax tune.

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