Long Bay (Beef Island)

Marvin E. Williams

The seagrape tree’s yellowing
leaves hang limp like a seamoss
drinker’s nightmare atop gnashing
of sheets, a broken promise
lodged in winter postcards
that sell summer to the prospecting
or those like me who possess
summer and so pursue
the greenery rain and sun
conspire to crop then burn.

A lay preacher touting some
unsuspecting faith, deals
cards that code messages
from fate, then ducks an apprentice
in a mock baptism whose breathtaking
must mime an audience with
the spirit world if not the holy
the spirit whose canvas stretches
wide enough to hold the myriad
brushstrokes that paint the triad.

But what of me, seeker
of greenery and fated to be
of so little faith? The sea
offers recompense for the loss
of greenery that seems no loss
for prospectors from the north,
those modern sun worshippers
with swiftly vanishing gods
who as my scorched dreams slept
found in the mad sun a promise kept.

Copyright © Marvin E. Williams