Holly St. John Bergon
Down in the lower woodlot, the woodcutter / whirls his chainsaw through the wreckage of of fallen logs scattered like pick-up sticks.
The low profile of the mainland / Across Vineyard Sound / Swims into focus.
“The Ukraine crisis is something we don’t want to see.”
—Xi Jinping
In a long row of pots along the side of the station / Blooms the garden of the garage’s mechanic.
She would have remembered today’s blue sky / from summers at the Vineyard Sailing Camp / where she learned about tacking and heeling / and coming about on the calm or choppy / waters of the Lagoon.
I wrote about hawks once before when they were nesting and feeding their fledglings.