Agora |
Spring 2015
After Years Abroad
BY DAN TESSITORE
The increased traffic, easing up Main,
the fullness of the pines that line the park,
the stark newness of the architecture --
Impermanence is, in fact, just
another name for perfection.
Still it all seems too quickly over-
whelmed, the world relentlessly
arriving, a wave that does not reminisce
or dream. And back at the old church,
its rust-red brick intact (the sheer
fact of it) they digitized the bell.
I spend Sundays now along the harbor,
among gulls, the smell of gas, the familiar
sag of that rope against the bare spar.
