The Speed Of Light

seashells

 

Come with me to a star

Eighty light years away

And look back

With super eyes

At the small blue point

We call the Earth.

Squint to see the peninsula

We call Florida.

The morning sun

Has struck the sea

With lines of fire.

There on the beach

Where quiet waves

Throw long smooth curves

On the flats of sand

My mother and my father

Perch on folding stools

Before stick easels

Wetting Whatman paper

With streaks of ultramarine

And prussian blue.

Strands of seaweed

In thick tangled piles

Meander on for miles

Along the empty beach

Concealing treasures.

Curly spiral wormshells,

Pink scallops, purple mussels

Thumbnail sized,

Strange hooked eggs of sharks,

Round sea beans liked cusped doorknobs.

My brother, ten years old,

And I, twelve,

Shuffle slowly through the piles

Garnering delights.

Florida like that

Is long gone.

But the image

Of my father, my mother

My brother and I

And the glory that was Florida

Is sailing out

Into the universe

At the speed of light.

 

 

 

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