Huge white clouds slowly turned in a luxurious, drifting white silence, the sun so high it could not be seen. I put my two palms together and broke the sky in two as I pushed off into a swim. Here beatitude flows Down the dark maze. Not where everyone goes, But an outcast knows There's jazz in the catacombs tonight. All but one the boats are in, hauled on the beach, sails furled and oars shipped.
Fishermen carry buckets ashore.
Two women linger to wait the last boat in. They lean together, arms draping each others' shoulders, voices lapping at the uncertain shores of night. A child's shoe scuffs in the sand, sea-gulls' drowsy twitters settle the dunes, a loon's laughter ravels the dusk with wildness. Imagine one ripple hinging on the edge of west, slipping into the bay. Imagine a chain of silken stitches binding off for one more time the shroud of dark.