Farewell, ye fair white shores of Maine.
The wind sits, caught in the throat of a sail.
The waves jagged. The seafoam a
stain against deep blue.
Cerulean laps against rocks,
fair elm glade and New England pine.
Scarlet crabs against dawn lit cracks of shoal,
mahogany octopi filtering underneath waves.
Gulls circle overhead,
it is time.
Take your gentle gloved hands into mine.
I whisper soft words and gentle easies.
Time and tide wait for no man.
I must be hasty, or lest disobey
the Whaleman's call.
So I hook up the anchor,
like a steadfast navy man,
The sun glitters gilded,
warm rays to guarantee safety.
A hospitable trip,
to the isle city.
But I will always think,
and return, do not fret.
To you, and that harbor, gloss and wet.
Its salt laden ferryman,
lobster pots and joy filled merries.
Its neighborhoods of
sandstone homes against,
moss covered black and silver walls.
Twine docks, and fishing spuns.
My love, dear friend of mine.
Be careful of psalms and deep sea brine.
I’ll return again, to the crags,
and bring you boast of summer’s glass.
Baskets of rosemary, berries, and thyme.
Aberrant otherwise goods, from that peculiar city.
Fish without scales, carves of rock.
Perhaps even a letter from the college,
a celestial knock.
Starlit coast upon my return to Castine,
my boat rocking against the shore,
foreladen with cargo hold.
You whisper quiet mellow queries.
Holding a lantern I bid thee good evening.
