(no subject)
Dolphin's Dreams
We fill plastic bags with ancient groceries, to haul curbside.
Some, vintage brands that no longer exist.
Needing air, I step into the dining room,
To me, the last vestige of the days of white lace
And Sunday chicken dinners I once knew here.
A friend writes to say that
The dolphins have returned to the waters of California.
And I think how early sailors believed
That dolphins were the souls of past mariners
Sent to guide them home.
Witnessing the inexorable end of a fading generation
I wonder now at the transience of home
How we flicker and dance our hours and days
Burn bright; hold tight; staving off the inevitable.
Till we wake to dolphin's dreams.
We fill plastic bags with ancient groceries, to haul curbside.
Some, vintage brands that no longer exist.
Needing air, I step into the dining room,
To me, the last vestige of the days of white lace
And Sunday chicken dinners I once knew here.
A friend writes to say that
The dolphins have returned to the waters of California.
And I think how early sailors believed
That dolphins were the souls of past mariners
Sent to guide them home.
Witnessing the inexorable end of a fading generation
I wonder now at the transience of home
How we flicker and dance our hours and days
Burn bright; hold tight; staving off the inevitable.
Till we wake to dolphin's dreams.