_65. Closing the Summer House (2)

The window screen are stacked
like so many black dishes on the back
patio, sunning themselves.
Soon they join other seasonal
ornaments and fascinations
in the garage (the boat, swim fins,
biycles, sail cloth).
My father pulls all of these
into a clockwork storage pile
and shuts the door.
Done–
and early enough
for one last swim,
one last accidental gulp of seawater
and the sight of the house
from 30 yards offshore.

I had a dream the tide rose
over the dunes and up to the
highest level while I waited
inside, unconcerned.
The captain goes down with
his ship, but I trust
the water. In my dream the waves
come right up against the
house but it neither moves
nor makes a sound.