Swan’s Island
Fog is a dimension unto itself;
fog horn is mournful because
it can’t beat through.
Generations of Lobstermen
haul bugs from the sea.
Once called “poverty fish,”
they cannot afford to eat them;
a hard life, harder still
in the worst of times.
Rock and tree sculpted by
wave and nor’easters.
Even in brief sunshine
sweater weather
everything crouches,
hunkered down
awaiting the next storm.
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