Poems 1960-2010

SOUND MUSIC

  I am coming to Greenport
3 a.m. by the Appalachian Trail
the ground fog since Albany starts to lift
Soprano:   Tis the mist to be girdled
tis the mist to agree
tis the mist to go down
where we ought to be
  Half-moon rising over Windsor Locks
drags the haze from the Connecticut River
moonlight glints off the dark water
Bass:   Aphasic mace
how green the cloud
that swamped a poor
wretch like me
  The sky turns from black to blue
like a Steller’s Jay in Muir Woods
rises amazed in the morning’s first grace
Duet:   Stony Creek
Old Saybrook and Lyme
sunlight—quick
I’ve run out of time
  Fisher’s Island shimmers to port
as the first New London ferry of the day
brings me across to Orient Point
Chorus   Tis the mist to be girdled
tis the mist to decree
tis the mist to go down
where we’re sposed to be
  To turn, turn
will be our despite
till by turning, turning
we come round right