This Town of Strangers

The ancient ocean mumbles toward our village,
tosses its waters on the abandoned beach
here where I sit thinking of time and pillage.
We too have heard mermaids singing each to each —
now we have scallop ears, and so will you.
Age is a time for bitterness and rue.

Strange songs still echo about this town of strangers,
of elderbrush uprooted and left to dry
under a southern sun which holds no dangers
other than falls to sea, ascents to sky.
We’ve come to watch our days go; so will you.
Age is a time for bitterness and rue.

I rue this village where my sons would have me.
My daughters pamper babes: live and let live.
I rue the infant science that would save me
to save the lifetime I have still to give.
We rue this seaside seepage. So will you —
age is a time for bitterness and rue.