It makes sense that it should end in this way;
No fingers to point, appeals to hear.
(The critics have spoken, we’ll close the play.)

Tell the dour old priest to go away,
I’ve no time left for repentance and fear;
It makes sense that it should end in this way.

There’s no final role I need to portray
As my whos and whys are perfectly clear.
(The critics have spoken, we’ll close the play.)

No fretting about a life gone astray;
I plotted the course which I chose to steer.
It makes sense that it should end in this way.

Let others live to fight another day;
I’m at peace with all that which brought me here.
It makes sense that it should end in this way.
(The critics have spoken, we’ll close the play.)

I live on a small (25 sq. mile) island, accessible only by ferry.

                                                  <>

“For we are dear to the immortal gods,
Living here, in the sea that rolls forever,
Distant from other lands and other men”

—Homer, the Odyssey (translated by Robert Fitzgerald)

                                                    ­  <>

sea air inoculates the slowing breath-taking ferried voyager,
our landed cares felled, fall into a wake, trailing, sunk & submerged,
a ferry’s ramp contact-clangs, belling a “Here, Here!” alters our mien,
the softening airy enveloping, fragrantly, a greeting of immortal gods

no matter that we can vision-easy the neighboring isles, with
their trafficked-light busyness, the to and fro of mainland life,
bustle necessity of hustle, our riveted river moat cancels out
imposing surround sounds, our untucked flavor, floating free

wafting perfume of quiet inlet, creek and harbour, touch us safely,
alternating currents of gentle breeze, stiffer sailing winds, gusts,
bending us, these reminders, we humans too, creatures of elementals,
water, sun, forest, sand, animals, singular upon co-hosted menagerie

the brackish water, where fresh + marine waters mix, live + die,
reflecting our pooling diversity, so few of us born here, yet so many,
adopt and adapt the isle’s peculiarities, endearing all without any
distinction, we blessed together by Immortal Gods to shelter together,

by, from, the seas that roll us into one peaceful island, nearly, dearly,

and now departed

                                                      ­ <>


Shell Beach,
Shelter Island
August 2021

I the lonely meadowlark
Perched upon the thistle
Waiting the sickled mower to pass

I the cracked egg
Fetal heart slowing, slowing
Death before the hatchling birth

I the hare crouchant
Scarce aware the shadow’s dive
Screeching beneath the talons

I the wind-torn tree
Branches scattered, bleeding sap
Beetles explore the shredded bark

I the fawn uncertain
Edging the splattered highway
Mother shattered in the lane