VINEYARD TWILIGHT, WITH A GUITAR

Beach grass combs the tangled wind

in rhythms subtle as an aftersigh

while we – o we,

who stretch and watch white terns

skim noiseless patterns

light as air – descend

voluptuous harmonies.


Plucked chords of being

resound, and tell me why

this moment, caught

like a perfect bubble

on the lifting tide

cannot be multiplied

but floats out perfect:

leaving us replete,

unsatisfied.


The Vineyard Gazette (1979)