It began on Music street

one summer years ago

with a long beach walk

to a whale’s rib cage,

then by an old windmill

in Menemsha

near the swords of many swordfish

on old gray walls.

On a lane off Lighthouse Road

we stayed a thousand days,

bare feet feeling for cherrystones,

a face and hand in the water, spearing fluke,

summer tumbling into summer.

Island and family were almost perfect,

a father finally finding grace

writing out his heart

in a small island shed

while a brother and sister,

not yet ten,

adventured on the wild roads

with friends,

little thumbs out,

riding flying horses,

summer tumbling into summer,

our mother

sketching horseshoe crab

cases, cooking lobster and corn,

swimming nude in the champagne sound.

It began on Music Street

and we stayed on a lane

off Lighthouse Road

a thousand days.