Calling the Ipswich Bluff

 I watch the cars slowing down to watch
 the deer grazing in the golden distance,
 although from here it favors butterscotch
 and the deer look to me more as their acquaintance.
 I'm on the other side, Ipswich Bluff,
 usually savored from the refuge road
 while out sight-seeing. From there it looks wild and rough.
 But from here I sense the land is real, not hallowed
 ground to worship through binoculars.
 Those deer are not the Holy Trinity
 as I am not the Holy Ghost in sneakers
 walking through some watery infinity.
 We're just neighbors in the neighborhood
 of sparkling waters, amber marsh, and greenwood.



copyright 1999 Greg Perry