Shore Path, Bar Harbor Inn

At dusk the tide is low, the water soundless,
The islands just across the harbor rock-willed
With philosophic pines and nesting eagles.
At dawn the picture looks much so the same.
The nearby rocks are drenched with drying seaweed
And seagulls hunt for uncovered periwinkles
In the revelations of shallow tidal pools.
But at night the waves enlarge upon the dark
Increasing to incessant unseen heights
Against an ever-widening sky of stars.
Upon its floodtide mythical chimera
Sail in a constant hush of soothing streams,
Arriving just in time to crash upon
This deep nocturnal shelter for wayward dreams.











copyright Gregory Perry 06/01