The fogs are as unpredictable as the winds.
The next generation comes surely on,
Their nonchalance baffles my intelligence.
Some are gone for folly, some by mischance,
Cruelty broods over the inexpressible,
The inexorable is ever believable.
The boy, in his first hour on his motorbike,
Met death in a head-on collision.
His dog stood silent by the young corpse.
The old Penobscot Indian
Sells me a pair of moccasins
That stain my feet yellow.
The gods of this world
Have taken the daughter of my neighbor,
Who died this day of encephalitis.
The absentee landlord has taken over Tree Island
Where one now hesitates to go for picnics,
Off the wide beach to see Fiddle Head.
Last week, the sea former off Stonington
Was tripped in the wake of a cruiser.
He went down in the cold waters of the summer.
Life is stranger than any of us expected.
There is a somber, imponderable fate.
Enigma rules, and the heart has no certainty.
October 31, 1963