A Palimpsest


I am in love with the color

of hydrangeas—blue on blue,

blue on purple; purple on white,

along with the scent of gardenias

just before they brown at the edges

like books left too long in the sun. 

Sandpipers leave hieroglyphs on mud

flats. Silk from golden orb spiders 

wrap around a body like steel. 

I can profess such love for things 

regarded as mostly inconsequential. 

I can grieve both the rising tide 

and houses collapsing in slow 

motion along the coast. 

How fortunate to believe in small 

annotations that might still 

make it possible to inhabit a different 

kind of importance in the world— 

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