Dusk on Cape Canaveral
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
That which travels
Forgets itself.
~ Lorca, (“Corriente”)
The truth of this is wayward as a breeze
That licks at saw palmetto berries, sand
And evening waves along the Cape. The frieze
Of foam against the beach feels breakers fanned
Though smell from them is something that the nose
Intuits mostly. Twilight does not have
A fragrance, though it should. The evening glows
With hints of smells. The saltinesses halve
Them, make them less, turn hints to less, to sauve
Impeachments of the heat of day and sweat.
The memory of a jellyfish goes mauve,
