Last Plum Island Wave
by Michael Escoubas
Acrylic on Canvas by Paulette Demers Turco

There is no mistaking the feeling
of last things. Days become noticeably shorter,
there is a nip in the air, not there before.

Like the last fireworks burst walking home
from Miller Park, a signal summer will soon end
amid the red ripeness of round leaves.

Last waves that bind us to earth. Like the last kiss
between lovers, a rush violent as late summer surf.

There is a sense of something, an intimation of change—
I have heard of it somewhere before ….

a stealth-like softness, unexpected, yet familiar …
coming unannounced in the twinkling of an eye.



 

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