The Bay

Dragonflies mating in the greeny shade
of the tamarisk, their brief lives unfettered.

On the bleached bay, becalmed, white sails
adrift under a blanched overheated sky.

Sand-washed, sun-warmed fragments—“sea glass”:
wines tossed—when?— from a party ship;
antique nostrums, a patent bottle’s eroded story.

On the shore tiny green-black mites, terns—
and the calligraphic beach grasses yearning
with the breeze like a printmaker’s lines.

Pale world, green world, aromatic,
moving, still, life we knew together—
in everything I see your hand….

Wild mint at our door, honeysuckle,
fragrant August wind shifting,
dying—nectar, salt, all one breath.