Sea change

On the island always was a magick, fog

and second magick, sea. Both obscured

island from world, prevented

commerce to and fro betimes,

fog by quiet enwrapment,

sea by tumult of tempest,

two powers equal to bewilder.

A May Day fog, no one could wing

to, a traveler could not fly fro

so stayed, reluctant: cats awaited

while on unexpected May Day

on an island unanticipated were feasts,

dark brew, rare meats, lobster and tarragon

in one day of as many hours in dilation

as made a difference, made a rapt traveler

grow a smile that stayed through

lift of magick that freed

travelers to squeeze through weather

window to bone rattling earth

journeys to what awaited.

Whatever awaited.

But smile stayed.

And life changed.

— Frances Huggard Migliaccio



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