Produced by Dennis Camire

This week’s poem is by Thomas Moore and is from his book “Saving Nails” (Moon Pie Press 2016). He’s the current poet laureate of Belfast, Maine.

 

Smith Cove: Light to Dark

By Thomas Moore 

 

At sunrise the sky is not a saucepan

Or the roof of a Dodge or the curved

Bottom of a wooden sloop;

 

It is stacked blankets unfolding,

Mauve under violet, blue over yellowish

Gray. Sometimes the sky is scarlet

 

Down-comforters, and sometimes

The sun exhales a silence that settles

From Henry Point to Sheep Island

 

To the Mill Pond dam. Sometimes

Gulls and eagles ride the light and

Sometimes an osprey explodes

 

Through it for a mackerel. The tide

Curves and uncurves the shore, spruce

Shadows twirl the meadow, and when

 

Fitz Henry Lane’s moon sinks

Into Indian Bar the cove darkens,

The blankets fold into mist.

 

It is then that the sky over Smith

Cove may be a saucepan warming

Blue bean soup, or the roof

 

Of a gray Dodge pick-up or

The bottom of a sloop returning

Late from a Bagaduce picnic.

 

Dennis Camire can be reached at dcamire@cmcc.edu