The morning is suddenly turned
on the ringing cry of a gull
and the clear call to see
that we are all commanding the prows of
way-faring ships
rising toward shifting horizons.
Be-ware, Captain, be aware.

The prelude turns the corner and
suddenly I am taken back
to that road trip to New Orleans
Valentine’s and Mardi Gras and
dancing monkeys all weekend
and searching for hidden alligators with
my first love and two of my oldest
friends and a sister
all crammed in to
that tiny car
for six hours each way
and I turn and see the marine layer
roiling over the top of the hill
with the swiftness and impending weight of
an advancing army
and the words come sing song
and I want to howl them
into the layers of mist,
but not Ginsberg’s Howl,
my howl,
this magic,
this now,
this song,
this summery unsummer
of peeling away the layers
digging deep, deeper
leaving the confusion behind
for this solid shining knowing