By Clathrate Gun Poem by Robert Preston

This is the dock by the timeless Saint Johns
where my grandfather would sit
where my uncle now sits
where I have just begun to sit
where I pass the time studying and musing

about what I will do

about what I will do

I’ll become a great chemist
I’ll unlock methane mystery
I’ll unchain us from this dusk
I’ll go abroad; promise to return
like the pied pianist of Poland
who died by the timeless Seine.

It is hard knowing
my children
all children
will never see this dock.
The timeless Saint Johns will be an undertow
amidst the urban sprawl of Atlantis…