Bay memories

The sun glosses over a morning’s dew
Sailboat clotted at the low-tide, the wrecked wave,
I remember forty years between age and youth.

I profited a memory, but the scenery changed,
Now patched with dwarfed lumps of sand
The bay’s idyll, worn out by time, it’s in a bastard state.

It gave me good use in a ship white, shrunk to a wind.
Colored sales flapping in a draft;
Waves beautiful in the formlessness of the bay,

Cliffs edged the land’s end, stony shores grudging
Under saltwater, I walked among them
And stuffed my camera with photos of a still horizon.

Now views are boarded up with summer homes,
The sun dwindles behind stockade fences;
A grain of sand is all that’s left; and that is that.

Seagulls once in a ceiling without a blackness,
Now scavenging in a traffic of planes,
Circling under shadows of metal flights, close to a death.

The bay waters no longer running clean
As factories run on and on, squatting in a shank of profit;
The fish are gone, filleted in a cannery, bones under

A tent of starving gulls. My shadow is black.
Filtering away from the past; I probe for a fractured image,
Cold and final, resting in the attic of my skull.

Copyright © 05/12/18 lance sheridan®

Bay memories

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