David Lowell


On the Carolina shore
we stumbled on the Jonquil
listing in sand
paint receded and wood
pocked with sores,
conceding half its hull
that should have been submerged.
I have it still
in that photograph; you
pale faced and slender, hair
full of wind,
smiling at sunshine.
We were new to each other then.

June 20.
At the bar,
the television news
Tracked the storm's approach.
Amanda, a warm commotion from
Tropical Atlantic, turns against time:
An air of poise and blooming
when glimpsed from space.
Almost fit to be loved.

June 23.
The wet air clings
Like a jealous kiss. You turn and run
Inland. I chase after shouting
and calling. The sky flexes
scattering rain. It's too late.
It's too late for that--
A strange, far-off beauty
comes in close; cracking
like wooden ribs
on the water
and trembling toward the shore.

David Lowell lives in Norfolk, VA.

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