Summer 
seems lessened—

buds of cup-
            and-saucer scale
            to frayed
                        extent.*Watching us

            the gull can
limn from

the edible
the purely 

            ornamental.*


The slow yellow
            sun hones
high   wisps
from   low   threats—

planes
of a charged hour
bearing down
  
            on our
wet heads. *Parched beach grass
            holds the dune—

eleven lasts
            all morning.
No meaning

to assign yet
            to alewives 
laid eerily by 
                        the tide
two-by-two*            or your eyes
as you stare,
hardened to

(not the blue
            of the Lake
nor the blue
of the sky

            but) the blue
            of a gray
rock 

worn
memento smooth.*Through
bowlful redcurrant 

breakfasts
            I will recall this
                        minute—

steered to its brink
then                     
    sank