Morning
In the pale gray of dawn I hitch up my skirts to greet The bride’s crown of Fingernail-moon. Look, there. Look how She glows, even now, After being out All evening. I pick my way, slowly, Among the salt-washed Boards, the fluorescent Hum of the sea Reverberating In a shell held up by a giant. I only get half way Before I have to stop and rest, And while I wonder If anyone has ever lived In that lighthouse, A seagull, scolding like a wife, Urges me onward To the shore.
