"Dreaming as the summers die"

The porch absorbed August’s dissolving light,

as summer phantoms heaved fall sighs.

When insects hummed and cooing doves took flight,

I begged for tales with widened eyes.

My father yawned and smiled in reply

and read A Boat Beneath a Sunny Sky.

A current stirred, the sky a cloudless dome,

as sails obeyed the whims of wind.

The keel untwined the curling ocean foam

and slashed the sea like white tulle trimmed

by snapping shears. But now I steer away

from cliffs and dock the boat when skies turn gray.