I still remember the April melt
flowing down by fits and starts
into the ditches of my lost child’s heart
and of hope stirring, how it smelled –
the corpse of wan yellow meadow
resuscitated by the salt sea air.
I can remember it as if still there
although it was a long, long time ago.
Old fishermen repairing nets
at their stages, chinking boats
with oakum, painting Jacob’s coat
of many colors like fairy rivulets
made iridescent by the warm Spring sun;
painting my heart when I was young.