When I finally stirred myself to rise,
Shaking off the vision of a faceless stalker,
And myself, glimpsed in a full length mirror,
Stalking around in trousers two inches too short
In front of an audience of friends and colleagues.
I shuffled to the deck.
Switching on the coffee as I passed
I carefully stepped over the transom
Not stubbing my toes as so many times before,
No reverberation of curses on this fine morning!
Moist air, oystery, I thought,
Noting three small clouds
Illuminated from below,
And the distant clanging grind
Of the ice maker on the wharf.
The cormorants muttered and chuckled
Then clattered off, feet propelling them
Into liftoff to chase a rival flock
Bobbing and dipping into a baitball
That darkened the nacreous surface
A hundred yards away.
Then to my right
A bright conclave of kayakers,
Orange hulls and yellow PFDs
Punctuating the bay.
I watched, appreciating,
While my coffee perked,
The paddlers ghosting dawnward,
East, as if by getting closer to the horizon
The soon-to-rise sun
Would be even more spectacular.
Rob Longley, an artist who lives in Provincetown with a studio at Whalers Wharf, first visited in 1971 to study with Henry Hensche.
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