There is a great sky 
over the world today - 
wide and blue it is 
yawning and stretching in the heat. 
Ocean 
rimmed by a shoreline 
of summer fields and woods,
where oak and pine 
jag out 
ragged peninsulas, 
and the farmhouse chimneys 
are piers and breakwaters 
parting the blue.
But all is not blue - 
from the west 
strands of white seaweed
flap in the flow of warming currents;
whilst swifts 
are the screaming seamews 
of this concave sea.
Lonely I 
laid on a green island far above
can write no dirge 
but only a celebration.