I will come back
which ever way the sea may want
to tell you I love you...
From an old sea ballad.
Perched angular on her garden wall
she waits, watching the tide. The sun is hot
but keeps her bones havened in light. So dazzling
its flame gave her the fervor to pot
(in terracotta ) soil and bulb. All those red
geraniums along the fence
now bright enough to fetch --
a sailor's eye from the sea.
Last month, her husband left
with compass, lamp, and linen sac
to store his soiled clothes . But most essential
the bronze bell he declared
was the color of her hair.
when loose and lit by the falling sun. Something he would ring
when he returned.. And The flowers
she had placed with careful hands --like flags
held high in bloom
or sagging low.