michael hogan (July 14,1943 / Newport, Rhode Island)
What is it about the sun
on a late summer afternoon
that speaks of loss
even when the day has been more than expected?
The water gently cool
somebody else’s children playing in the sand
elongated features of waders.
Everything sparkling as if
one’s soul were connected to the angle of light.
Then the sky darkens a deep purple
like the velvet lining of an ancient music box.
Rolling waves carry the day away:
the last green light flashing into the sea.
And you are still gone.
Comments about this poem (Aftermath by michael hogan )
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