Yesterday afternoon, as the car
swept round the highway, the green sea,
shone mint-like at me, from the left window,
then the right, and then again the left,
till we had moved so far,
that only tar sailed till the horizon.
Of course the sea had been there,
There was no doubt about it,
But a momentary pause
had fallen fjord-like between sea
and tar, eating all the green.
It was when I saw all those windows
Of glass—parallel, opposite and even diagonal,
Arranged as if to gather some iota of fallen light,
Or some bold, whimsical aurora—
Framed in buildings lined
like the populace
edging a full blown parade,
That slowly the sea entered memory.
When I turned back, and saw the tongue of tar
distend from the rear of our car
How the voices of gulls and tramping flamingoes
burst sharp through the crazed static,
And my head swirled with that green!
