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Poetry By
  William Clunie

Published on: 10/20/2009

When you get to be this age you wonder
if the calm inside your chest
is wisdom or the onslaught of decrepitude,
or no more than a chance alignment
of yourself with the tide,
the promise of a quiet summer at the beach.
Whatever: I'll enjoy it while it lasts.

There's bounty here still
on this northwest edge of America.
We've not yet learned to parcel out
the moon or sun or stars,
and the seagulls, for now, look healthy.

And then there's you
walking beside the water,
my old friend.

You look as natural on this shore
as in my bed, and I know you
know it too - your smile:
as big as the sun above your head.

When love grows up it doesn't ask
for more than what it has, or why.
There is plenty here inside the sea,
beneath the sand, and behind the sky.

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