• POETRY •
Early Summer Reveille
“Away then to loosen, to unstring the divine bow, so tense, so long. Away, from curtain, carpet, sofa, book – from ‘society’ – from city house, street, and modern improvements and luxuries….” – Whitman, from Specimen Days
Matters but little by April when the sun is a spray across the daylong landscape despite the cold – crisp, final snow, built by wide swoops across the bayside below but to melt by the time the day is out. White of fresh April snow, white of the band of white pelicans that has reached up to summering grounds, we watch from a window and forget about the walls, as they pump their white hips up and down and scoot across the surface of the crystal waters. White of the bald head of the eagle as it swoops down the leafless oaks at the edge of the grounds, wrapping their wide prehistoric wings against the scene as if batting away the wind, pelicans scuttle up, afraid by the moment, but only a moment, and barely move their carrot length beaks to the trouble. White of the seagull as it pecks along the beach for dead white fish, white of the eyes, white as cotton clouds that will never reach the ground. I see summer and it is white like fire like the wind of the arctic but warm and never seen.