Along the crook
Of Fourth Neck to
Its most easterly
extent
Proceeding out on
A thin isthmus
Of asphalt and doubt
To a wooden bench
At the end of the
pier
Where only tenuously
Connected to the
Sandbar behind me
I sit and reflect upon
The sky’s reflection
And surrender to
The still wintry air
Watching daylight ascend
In layers and columns
To a higher redoubt
A dog barks
Down the street
A serene breeze
Stirs the red
Bandana affixed
To a pole
In the mouth
Of the Bay --
A slight tremor
portends
Elijah and his fiery
chariot
May finally be
drawing near
Each packet of wind
Has its own trope
This is no projection
Or sympathetic
fallacy
Merely an observation
Of the tendencies
On clear display
Out here in the
harbor
As reality goes about
its task
Defining a clear smooth path
Out past the No Wake
zone and
Through the Bay’s fill and chop
Clear beyond the Point
of No Return
As the waters continue
parting
With a slight nod of the crown
Drawing us onward
Into the far greater depths
That lie straight ahead
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