Awake; but no need to arise. The sense of possibilites.
Before our experience of the oceans, we ascend the mountains:
First days of summer bring the drive to Pisgah,
to the Blue Ridge. Blue smoke brings
Dreams in Asheville.
Dancing. Sipping red martinis. Getting
Thrown out of the Out bar of Asheville
for brandishing a martini glass. Sensational.
From the hiking trails at 6000 feet,
We descend to the first ocean.
An ocean of memory brings waves of our emotional past.
Old friends sensing old age. Recalling past sensations.
After scotch and weed with the now grown children,
A secret cracks open ungluing the sticky memory of a
long buried indiscretion-- lust in the heart.
That disturbing ocean of lost sensation yields
To the ocean of contentment-- to Cape Cod,
To the sensation of hot buttered lobster,
The sensation of luxury in the Morrocan Tower,
The sensation of sun and naked men in the high dunes--
And intellectual nights with editors and poets.
The sensation of cool ocean breezes as we sip wine on the
Expanse of open porch,
Or watch parades among the tiger lillies.
Again, mountains precede the ocean as we hike
in Cloudland, nieces charging ahead.
And drinking champagne with Starr deep into the night.
Then we are airbourne. More champagne on our pampered morning flight of mimosas
to Mexico. To the Pacific. To the Night of the Iguana.
What a wealth of sensations: the glittering beachside pool, dazzling;
the freezing cold room scented with eucalptus, then mint, then orange.
The thousand thread Egyptian cotton sheets.
The taste of pre-Columbian Mole' sauce. Or shrimp flamed at our table.
The third ocean gave the most sensations.
Boating over the sea in a thunderstorm to watch Aztec dancers,
An ancient wedding dance in the jungle, fiery torchs and rain.
Boating to Yelapa, the air fragrant with marijuana smoked by
Workers building a bridge below the waterfall.
Sand between the toes. Ocean waves knocking me over,
Handblown blue-green glass holding a marguerita.
Dancing on the boat. Absurd music. Fountains of tequila from the open bar.
Blue Chairs. Jazz at Garbo's. American breakfast at Kit Kat.
An erotic massage with satisfying fingers in the mornings.
The glimpse of an Iguana among the banyon trees.
The Atlantic, Boston Bay, Pacific Pelicans, and The Pacific Ocean
Summer ends in sensations.
Pampas fed beef from Argentina...
Even a smile from the customs man.
Today, a thunderstorm wets the yard, the oaks, the parched lawn.
Rumble and flash,
And the summer is over.
Autumn is on the way.
Seize the Season