Past the fourth cloverleaf, by dwindling roadsAt last we came into the unleashed wind;The Chesapeake rose to meet us at a dead endBeyond the carnival wheels and gingerbread.
Forsaken by summer, the wharf. The oil-green wavesFlung yellow foam and sucked at disheveled sand.Small fish stank in the sun, and nervous drovesOf cloud hastened their shadows over bay and land.
Beyond the NO DUMPING sign in its surf of cansAnd the rotting boat with nettles to the rails,The horse dung garlanded with jeweling fliesAnd papers blown like a fleet of shipless sails,
We pushed into an overworld of wind and lightWhere sky unfettered ran wild from earth to noon,And the tethered heart broke loose and rose like a kiteFrom sands that borrowed diamonds from the sun.
We were empty and pure as shells that air-drenched hour,Heedless as waves that swell at the shore and fall,Pliant as sea-grass, the rapt inheritorsOf a land without memory, where tide erases all.