Ilove c by vb7LCrAv


									Searching for Clues

with Aidan and Guthrie (6
and 4 years old) in the rocks
at Folly Cove -- searching for
clues that they save in their cave,
clues to solve the mystery of
what we should do while we're here --

"See this claw," says Aidan,
"Change the letters around;
it becomes 'walc'" which means
"we should walk some more" --

we do and I find a jagged broken
piece of a blue foam buoy --
my own clue that Aidan names
"Big Blue". . .
                Does this mean
His blue hot wheels car needs
a “lube" job? that my five year old
IBM laptop has broken down?

that little boy blue is big now?
that we must "bulge" with "bilge"
as we grow old? . . .
listen as big blue's "bugle"
blows reveille in the inner ear.
Sunset -- Revisited

Interesting -- as we stand
in the fog, looking at the sea,
how the dark approaches so slowly --
impossible to know when night falls --

we only know it has fallen, like
when I was eight years old, playing
baseball by myself in the field
behind my grandfather's garden,

tossing the ball up, then hitting it
in one direction as hard as I could,
chasing it, then hitting it back again --
it never seemed to be that dark

when my mother called with more
and more urgency -- and finally,
how surprised I was -- and still am

at the end of day to look back from
a lighted house and see the world
outside so definitely, so
unaccountably black.
The Castle of Growing Things

little more than a pile of sand and dirt
in the middle of Chloe's sandspot
on the shore of the New Hampshire lake

a sandpile with wild things only --
no cultivated flowers: daisies
O.K., large and small, some goldenrod,

pink and white clover, loosestrife,
Queen Ann's Lace, buttercups, and
mystery guests -- some orange, some

purple flowers -- assorted grasses,
fern, patches of moss, small twigs -- and
last night's marshmallow toasting sticks

once and still growing things poking up
in unpredictable places -- with rainbow
arcs of freshly ripped out roots

over all the entrances.
Stinky Fish Manor

two layer sand birthday cake building
made with love and decorated with everything
interesting Quinn, Jordan, and I could find
on our trek along the deserted beach
in the mist and drizzling rain:

parts of lobster backs and claws,
broken crab and clam shells, whole ones,
charred driftwood, some seaweed, a few
feathers, and the piece d' resistance --
a dead fish -- over a foot long --
the sweet flesh gone,
                        the skin
and bone curled in an odd half smile,
half frown beneath the shining inside
of blue clam shell eyes and between
blushing red crab shell cheeks . . .

"It's beautiful!"
says 4 year old Quinn,
and you know, he may be right.

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