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I am a tree beside the water my ancient roots run deep and wide in Mother Earth as one body dies
she watches him as if the fault were in her eyes poor shorn Sampson withered hands grip the canes that barely hold the frail reflect…
The taste of winter ice Dug in August from the sawdust Of Conley’s ice house The slap of the screen door On Grammy’s porch
I saw their faces as clearly as if… on their stones beneath their name… heard their voices in the trees whose roots go deep into their dus… and into the dust of this Island
crumbling mortar and stone among the trees it stands alone morning glories creep upon the flo… the stair has fallen through the d… the music of summer is in the air
Snowflakes or fireflies Beneath an oval moon Do I wake or dream?
wild rose bush crushed between the rocks so carelessly placed and yet there a soul looks out at me
Empty moorings and Quiet lighthouse watch the bay Crawl back to the sea
we don’t know who he said he was we came from curiosity and stayed for the inhumanity
Time for a pit stop Half face in rear view mirror Road unwound behind
a cold moon filters down through the purple asters no explorers have returned with caterpillar robes and dandelion gold
Tide tickling sun’s wake Under a thin skin of ice Beach disappearing
sunlight through the clouds in a ring of bright water loons fish two by two
I remember the summer of the polio scare we couldn’t go to the cove to swim that whole summer