the summer refugees
stream in somber procession
off the wild coasts of the Atlantic
into tunnels and across bridges
that deliver them into the straight lines of September
from salty sprays to the cubicles of stale air
from lobster rolls to peanut butter & jelly sandwiches
from flip flops
to the confine of safely-covered toes
from open-ended, day-upon-day,
endless nights,
afternoons within afternoons
to
deadlines, alarm clocks, and appointments,
the sun dropping in the sky
night fall
from our nascent waters
to the certain ending
of every
incarnation
even summers such as this
even
lives such as ours
This Vermont Life 