There, arms crossed in Cape Cod:
blue fir trees
painted porticoes
and the old border collie
who looks for a ball
before it’s thrown.
Summer
seemed distant already.

Here, camping by the river:
half a dozen kids
biting into barbecued burgers
squinting at cricket under the annexe
wind whipping the tide around their earlobes.

Please, paper my tray:
until it’s scuffed and scattered
with a thousand stubs of pastels
oil sunk deep into my pores
flakes of purple, olive, apricot and chocolate
ground forever in my thumbprints.

Rewrite, postcards from my amygdala:
stockpile flashbacks
to crowd the doorstep
of a nest
that will never be truly
empty.

Being, now with you all here:
my bones will always
be brim full
with dry elbows, sandy banter
bare brown toes.

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Response to visual meditation on “Cape Cod Evening’, Edward Hopper, image Courtesy National Gallery of Art Washington.