2016 String Poet Prize Third Place


Of course it will be what is not:

the cacophony of lady slippers near the shore,

roses stretching toward eaves. You will want

scallops in the sand, the great horseshoe crab hollowed out,

and thousands, maybe millions of tiny crabs

in matted sea grass from something that happened

before your arrival. Will you go back

or was that the only time, and if you go

how much will be the same? Still

if you were to find your way

to that hollow of sand dune, surrounded

in wild blueberries you would dare to pick

and taste though you didn’t really know

what they were, if you were to find your way

to that trackless place and wander

once more alone and without direction,

maybe low clouds would come to you

again and cast their shadows,

and you could watch the mild darkness 

move over and beyond the bright land in waves.

And all this before you even began to wonder

how to find your way back.