I thought I’d live on a boat

on the blue water

              when the dawn rose up

              when the rain fell down

I thought a little log

I’d slip in the fire

              as the rain fell down

              as the dawn rose up

I thought I’d row to shore

in a bright little dinghy

              while the sun rose up

              while the rain fell down

and I did.

yes I did.

 

 

 

breakfast is over

              Mr. Great Blue Heron – here I come

                             rowing past.

 

​

Now the rooster crows

like nobody would notice the yellow sun

but the mommas of Gate Six noticed,

I can tell, cause four grade-schoolers

just ran by skipping and yelling “Hey,

is the bus gone? Come on!”

toting their lunch pails, leaving our community,

up before everybody,

to learn something about how shore people think.

 

Gate Six, this is where rubble is King!

Gate Six your gate is a small path

past the compost heap, corn husks and cantaloupe halves,

through blooming squash, petunias and lettuce heads,

over the itty-bit bridge to the meeting area,

              by the Brown House,

              between the ferries:

Charles Van Damme,

its hulking square frame

huge-beamed red paddle wheels,

and the two-stacker white Issaquah,

her lower decks submerged at high tide.

 

 

              a mother in a long green dress

                             walks her blond girl to the bus

                                           hand in hand

 

 

Oh I know

I’m mad to love this place

but when the cormorant dives and red sails

on the horizon slightly move…