Somewhere Off the Coast in Maine
The islands: floating and bobbing,
A handful of blue/green moss strewn out over the gray felt overcloth.
At night perhaps a devilish hand steals through thick fog
Moving each piece, just slightly
Enough to perplex the lobstermen next morning.
In the blink of an eye the giddy sea hawk
Swoops and glides over rampant steel ocean.
Perhaps the sea hawk is the wizard
And it is she that moves the islands confusingly
About the Bay.
I know Butter was where Burnt was yesterday,
Perhaps it’s merely part of the divine plan.
Summer moves into Fall,
Islands move about the Bay.
Reminding us not to feel complacent,
Confusing us enough to listen.