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