Oak, Moss, Jekyll Island
Live Oak, emphasis on the Live,
hundreds of years older than me,
bolder than me, demystifying history
through skin and bark. So, what am I
at 70?--an eager pup, wired
to write. So, what are you, old stoic?
gorilla of silence--grandeur
noblisse'd to guard the silence.
Ghosted in moss, you are perennial
Christmas, garlanded in gauze
by airy, deep-breathing conquistadors
who came to take, and stayed to give
their gray-on-gray, until eyes
surprised by bright green vines,
find, like me, homing space
in a provident place. How I love
this coast, this barrier island,
this weathered retreat
of the millionaire's boast! Yet, oaks,
unimpressed, stretch beyond
miniscule balconies, where sitting,
I have a life to seize, a day
unwritten.
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