"Cape Porpoise" by John Muro

Cape Porpoise

Skillet-black ooze and primal scum cling
To the ankles of gangly docks and the pleats
Of channels hold the still breath of decay
And deep-down things – shells, salt grasses,
Bones and scales – the sweet, dank distillations
Of days half-broken. The chirr of flies sings
Oysters open; contrails spewed in a pungent
Heap of onion-orange pulp and follicles
No longer flailing limply in cold currents;
Rather, the foul fissures of a primeval earth
Exposed at low tide. Somewhere, scented
Clusters of sea rose dissolve to fragrance
Beneath swallows in buckshot shredding
Air; and, from behind the gold patina of
Candle lamps icing cottage windows,
Sleepless souls take in the slurred diction
Of tides and the glistening arc of sea-
Spray, while linen sands, in a color that
Most resembles liquid amber, shimmer
In warm winds that carry with them
The tender trespass of curious children.

john Muro

A life-long resident of Connecticut, John is a graduate of Trinity College, Wesleyan University and the University of Connecticut. His professional career has been dedicated to the fields of environmental stewardship and conservation. In the Lilac Hour, his first volume of poems, was recently published by Antrim House, and his work has appeared or will soon appear in Euphony, Clementine Unbound, Freshwater, Amethyst Review, Trouvaille Review and elsewhere.

Headshot: John Muro

Photo Credit: Staff