From a Vineyard shop of long ago,
this cover (soft with amber leather)
holds pages worn in edge and ink.
   “… last night beneath the Milky Way
   we swam in the lagoon.
   Water slid like silk against my skin,
   phosphorescence swirled about…”

Each day was huge – aglow or gloom:
strident dark and crashing seas
splintered the glory of the sun;
we danced on windswept slopes
hiding razor crags of loneliness.

New entries scarce as decades pass
page on empty page stares back,
watching the smooth days slip by –
   “… called Mom tonight, and
   heard about her flowers…”

Not bright, not black. A sheltered sea
lies flat beneath the same old,
same old sunset; sand and seaweed
edge the rise and fall of lifescapes,
crowded with experience worn thin.


Christine Rigden