Metaxyturn Diaries

As days grow shorter

and cooler, the nostalgia

of Labor Day fades,

those with jobs keep them,

terrified not to. The world

is what it is. So,

when an egret lifts

itself above the dead marsh-

grass, it is a grace.

There’s a satiny

sheen to the Bay this morning.

The ducks ignore it.

We seek perfection

in ourselves to no avail.

And perspective makes

no real difference.

Basho greeted his special

mountain in silence.

As I leave by way

of the garden mourning doves

scatter up and a-

way. I think of you.

You loved the gloaming. We’d sit

by the river as

it got dark. The croak

of the night heron pleased you.

You’d write a haiku.

A nip in the air

from beyond the cove raucous

ducks up to something

from her small garden

my old old neighbor calls out

“take some tomatoes”

the transparency

of the morning air is it-

self impassable

The Bay itself in-

separable from the sky

there is so much fog.

Still, in the gray space,

three cormorants standing there,

charcoal black, stock still.

They absorb what light

there is, light itself an un-

spoken assumption.

An egret rising

from the flat Bay wakes me up—

I did not know I

was asleep under

the pine. A white smudge appears

to disappear. I

am an old man astonished

to be here at all.

I watch cormorants

crowd the sunny deck, some wings

akimbo, some not.

It rained last night, the

air is soft, clear. Attached by

bodies of water,

we throw the ashes

of our loved ones to the waves.

Water, first and last.

The cormorant bends

its long neck Into the rain,

waiting for the sun.

Ducks paddle around.

It’s Basho’s world, unchanging

and fluid, fluid.

A woman and two

children wade into the Bay.

They each look away.

From the breakwater

I watch them let each other

go. It’s a moment

of coming to be

for each at the summer’s end.

And brave beginnings.

No Eros descends

but a fresh breeze across the

water overflows.

At some point today

the grey light of August cooled

and became light rain.

At some point today,

a whole life quarreling with

my country ended.

i will praise my home,

birthplace of the dream of free-

dom, for its fine Falls.