Chincoteague

After George Santayana’s “Cape Cod”

The lavender waves and the rose skyline Blur at morning’s birth, doused in foamy wine Where will the dolphins sing? Gulls coarse with bleached sand and flaked shards of shell Bicker tight terns at the sea’s roar and swell When man spoils scale and wing? Ribboned shadows cast by flared kites hover above leering crabs and frantic plover How will our souls survive? Enchanted egrets in marshes linger Mirrored in sun’s ruby, descending fingers What sense to be alive?

Wind’s relentless bliss tires our salt-soaked hair jeweled waters envelop bodies bare

Why should eyes greet break of day? Swallow us in your seething turquoise womb We fear and yearn your churning, boundless tomb O sea, when poisoned grey?