Through the salt atmosphere,
To push against, it budges and rolls back
Into its rut in a hard-frozen track
Through the inside country where I think and feel:
Outside the willets land for their evening meal,
Their lifted wings exposing elegant black
And white zigzags, beside the tidal slack:
Gray clouds, gray ocean, and the light still and pale.
Whatever was missing from what I did today
Is the second overcast to run under here,
I puzzle and puzzle under it all the way
To my turn-back place -- willets again, a pair
Alight on a black rock off shore, crying kerlear!
Teetering prettily, above the sloshing gray.
Smoothly as I arrived is now half gone,
Its color riding the backwash; and I run
And sketch a plan to draw out of her daze
Of shyness Pam who writes so well, and faze
The Marxist glibnesses maybe of Juan,
When the girl walks by, barefoot, putting down
Footprints still clear under the water glaze.
Later, it's two girls writing in notebooks