untitled and in progress
The bay water black now
laps against the small rocked shore.
Half a mile upwind the geese and ducks,
the trumpeter swans discuss the day’s events,
a waterfowl cocktail party.
I am still sitting on the deck boards,
my belly, shoulders, chest and back remember
the afternoon sun. My book tired head
Still cool from slipping under
the bay’s blue shine at dusk forty minutes ago
My legs full of air and the slight ache
from too much swimming and my long walk this morning.
I stretch them out. Place my palms
flat on the dark red wood of the old deck.
Ten feet nearer the bay,
the bold, male fox stands on the retaining wall,
listens for the field mice
in the tall, wild grass that runs out to the water.
Then a firefly appears, blinks out, moves on,
winks again, is joined by three more.
They flash and dart, signalling the code
for sleep, for dreams.