8. The return of summer
© Bruce Goodman 1 April 2015

The waves ran gentle races for a while,
    green and slow, home-come in rows.
        Small footprints jollicked to the shore and back and
    children saw sea-tulips in the heat
        ‘til tides-grown-tired-of-riding
bedded back to sleep.

A shriek of silence seemed to stun the sky.
The gannet stumbled in the air
    pierced by the shock of sudden accident.
A lonely island waded in the sea.

I saw through spray a sudden surge of recklessness:
    a toppled boat turned slow.
Three children drowned.
    There were shells strewn
        madly on the
        strangling necklaces.

Winter hid the sunken summer.
A bit of moon hung somewhere in the night.
Somewhere in the night
    some sunshine sung.

Yes, tonight I dreamed of clouds
    screamed to crimson in the mountains.
        Stilts stood still at estuaries
and summer came.

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