On Fire Island
We stood upon the ripe
Dunes
Looking down upon the shorn
Tops
Of holly trees wading in the
Sunken
Hiatus, splayed between
Ocean
And Great South
Bay.
The lawntrees were
Rippling
In the fervid air. Then
Catlike
We plunged into the cool
Emerald
Arbored depths: Everything is
Green
Like her sunglasses there.
This little poem is another rare piece of juvenilia preserved from my college years at UF (1977-80).
Copyright © J P Marmaro | Year Posted 2017
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