Island View Campground
Over arching peals of laughter
drape the boughs of August
sweet grass meadow by the sea.
Swelling pear, blackened berry,
Golden plum, barking Chester,
Thistle's floss, appled branches,
Ladies' bursting breath of smile,
Acrobatics of the tea tabs
flutter round my cup
lulling, lulling on my eyes
conjure on my shore of mind
silently, a man in black
stroking paddle cross
the pinkness of the sun
upon a copper dawn.
[Breathe, it's time to breathe,
as crickets sing of noon.]
Now lifting under crow's caress,
perfumed by salt and kelp,
this blessing drought
moist fragrance of the strait
inviting all the raucous lungs of youth
to wander down
with box of song
and mess about for all the after noon.
Come, sweet plum,
pick a peck of kindness
by the sea.
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