Like A Season

In spring, the land is littered,

as if winter had been, perhaps,

only the wash of a large wave,

now receded, now leaving

only our autumnal remains.

A walk past the brackish waters

at the edges of the river,

itself, a passion of movement.

A gull-shriek, high,

the peace punctured,

and I begin to wonder -

is even inland a harbor

under a great swell of ocean,

and is love, like a season,

only as long as a wave?

~ Lillian Baker Kennedy