Early Rain

Lie in the grass and look at the sky
the beautiful boat rocks to and fro
on the water,
a sloop from the old rum-running days
it raced the stars where the Bermudas ride --
“If it were mine I’d name it Nostromo . . .” and sail it up the river

to visit the poet in his summer hamlet.  I’d also love to
have someone like you
here to share “this single solitude” with 
-- Or reach sometime round the other way
for a meeting on the Cape --

While others, out on their morning walks, drift among a confetti of
flowers and
a light patter of raindrops.