ALONE AT THE VINEYARD


Clouds over hills that roll
from my window
into the sea
                     gold finches testing
the empty feeder disappear
become sun-lit pieces
of memory
                   like Chilmark chocolate
                   ripening on my tongue
                   even in the grayest
                   of times

I think of you
my love
               and lobster traps
bound by ropes still sound enough
to pull their weight
from the bottom

imagine the heave
of your breasts against my chest
as weather settling over us
which in the very stillness
of its season
                      rises from
                      unfathomed
                      depths