The sun is up now
but just over the lip of the scattered islands
making them into black prickly lumps
rising from the sea.
The cove is glassy,
lobster buoys dot the smooth surface;
The shafts lean slightly with the tide.
Now and then the surface wrinkles
with a passing breeze.
It is too early for most
but this man has been out since dawn
here in the cove in front of his house,
where his family has lived forever.
The seagulls circle him while he works.
His small boat leaves a clear track
as he moves back and forth,
hoping for a good haul,
partly to keep the tax man away
but really because it is here
in this boat in sight of his house
hauling traps and dropping them back
that he is in paradise.
In Memoriam - Richard Dyer - Written about 2000