Poem Composed in a Bed of Clover

This spring things are growing

Around me lushly like a thick bed

Of clover so much so that it feels

Like I’m a baby swaddled in a blanket

Held tightly but without the luxury 

Of being able to roll over and yet

The clover keeps growing 

All around my face

On the Ferry

Once again a fair weather crossing

Sitting masked in the bow

Forward looking in spirit

On a first post-pandemic journey

Along the outer banks of good reason

Sunning on the upper deck

With a fair mermaid in the prow

But what lies ahead soon falls behind

Coming or going rarely different in kind

Howsoever different in mind