STATION ELEVEN

XI

Some days are packed within a day
unwrapped and unfolding
like the yellow edged pages of an old book.
Some look oddly untouched
as yet unread 
others so marked and creased
that you might wish to read them twice.

A few pages ago,
this morning,
it dawned speaking only in grays
the sky low and leaden
the sea dull and spark-less
worrisome

Just before midday 
the sun is arcing across the bluest sky
and hangs now to the southern.
Below her this morning’s tightly bundled rose buds
have dropped their modest green shoulder shawls
to reveal bursting red flowers.
They scatter their petals recklessly along dune paths
welcoming
another turn in the story.