WRITER, ON HIS LAST MORNING, SITS DOWN ON THE ROCKS BY DEADMAN’S COVE TO WRITE

My three weeks are so swiftly evaporating,
The spring chill of my arrival day
Finally has burned away and
Even here 10 miles out in the Atlantic,
Summer’s heat has arrived.

After the lupines’ dazzling displays
Have given way to the white multi flora,
After being struck with awe by the nighttime sky,
By the existence of the Milky Way and
A meteor shower more like a fireworks show,

After an opera singer on vacation
Filled the chapel, one Thursday evening,
With “O mio babbino caro” a capella,
After watching a gaggle of children, with glee,
Turn their skin blue in Swim Beach’s waters,

After I’ve observed a painter
Transform four quick daubs of oil
Into a gull hovering on the horizon’s edge,
And a cormorant, this moment, has emerged
From a dive, two minutes under, a fish in its beak,

What is left for me to do?
Can I really, in just this morning,
Encapsulate everything before
It mutates, romanticizes, turns to impression
Back in my everyday world?

Matthew Kiell