One morning in spring, I went for a walk in the air
and saw a girl with Titian hair,
a carriage,
plump boys.

There was a lawn, an old Victorian lot
a tree encircled by lobster pots
red, blue, yellow
anklet.

Near the Methodist church, “And God said,”
a Catherine’s Wheel in a flowerbed
plastic shine
kitsch bliss.

A flatbed truck kicking up winter sand
traps stacked like kitchen pans
balancing
crooked.

In the dip of a garden, under the stone wall,
steroidal tulips next to a magic ball
mirrored petals
thick stalks.

Past the quarry cove to a public beach
confetti children within arm’s reach
gritty cake
dry slice of life.