END OF SUMMER

what beneficence designs the sea

so limpid, so translucent,

that the lens, for one, can want

to flatten all the world around it

into one composite truce:

boats and palms and nets

mated in between the sets

of waves like fronds so braided

through bamboo that the view

floats away forever with the view,

waved in opulence beyond

all grief, saved

by embers on

the summer’s fading reef.