For the Day
Dawn breaks and gulls shed feathers in
the breeze above crisp surf
and Helios blinks his bleary eyes,
dew gathers on the turf.
Some children squabble noisily
and cram their buckets full
to build their fortress for the day
against the tide's slow pull.
Then later the oppressive sun
retires and with him light,
and bugs like embers drift aloft
to trees in flecks of white.
Cicadas drone their hollow song,
scraping legs together.
The scent of pine floats wantonly
to mind in any weather.
A wind slips snakelike through the grass
all brittle, rattling;
The sound of long forgotten grace
and distant prattling.
Remember days of sun and fog,
when ocean waves would break
upon the battered sands of home,
and nothing felt at stake?
Now birds flit wordlessly along
all dour blobs on grey
skies, the fat clouds ripe for bursting
yet keep the rain at bay.
My Mother stopped calling for me,
her body grown too old.
The purple flowers bow and weep;
I shiver in the cold.