My Lady
I have always accused you
of reading too quickly
so that words pass through your mouth
like a tough, Spring gale
stirring sand on the Cape beaches
that you longed for
in your schoolgirl dreams

I have always thought you
were too much in a hurry
so that nothing stays for long
and become understood
like names on the wood
beneath the breakwater's rocks
or the broken lobster traps

I have always wanted you
to tarry a little longer
and regard us carefully
like how that pale, wide lighthouse
surveys the dancing sea
boils the shadows with light
in constant circulation

But you were wild for to hold
and I a lesser demon of the sea
could not bear your growing strength
or your fierce resolution
for the savage agon of life