by Reed Turchi
Again the panorama bends against
the breeze-sea oats, berries,
summer flowers-Overhead,
the fighter pilots roar in threes-
Banked above the bay, training
touch & go in a high-plain meadow-
your mother (who married in, adopted this)
tells me above the white-capped rush
that the day her brother died each
ocean-stone she touched was heart-shaped
-& still she looks for them-finds
faith in what she hasn't since seen-
tides submerge a maze of mussels,
smoothed in blue. Hard kiss
of tires, thrusters up-
From:
Poetry NorthWest
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