for B.C.

Remembering that little trick of light
In “The Idea of Order at Key West”
When we turn from the singing at the shore,
Shine-minded, ponderous, and raw, to find

There in its debonair, the distant port,
Not a mile off now but right here,
High on nocturne and brine, biding its time
In the muddy waters of distortion

Which flood Key West until everything
Has happened and nothing that has happened will,
Like the apocryphal songs of yacht rock
That mean nothing to you until they do.