Woven from wild grasses,
a cluster of wild flowers
tucked in its band,
a single gull feather worn aft:
on a day shifting between
summer’s end and fall’s beginning,
we stand at the dock
waving goodbye to parting friends
when a sudden gust
lifts the hat from your head,
sends it, brim flapping,
winging its way out to sea,
wildness reclaimed,
borrowed, it seems,
for a season.

Marjorie Mir