Another Island

I am the courier of memories carried
Over tides of time and oceans of uncertain distances,
Dispatched today by the taste of
A single blueberry,
On this a rain washed morning
Grown on the slopes of an ancient volcano
In the middle of the Pacific Ocean.
And with its sudden flash of flavor
A memory stirs loose of
Fond moments from some time ago
On another island,
This one hewn from granite by glacier and nor’easter
Hard off the coast of Maine,
Great Cranberry,
And though not easily attained
Does yield its small beauties and simple pleasures
That through the passage of time still endure:
Buckets of seastars stranded on the rocky shore
By moon swollen tides,
Great leaps of innocence from the mail boat dock
To the icy waters fresh from the cold north,
Sand dollars like small galaxies hidden amongst
The smooth dank stones rattling at the ocean’s edge,
And greater galaxies found overhead in the sweep of stars painted
On the true black of moonless nights,
Bicycles, chains clanging, ridden with fearless abandon
Down roads and lanes scented with balsam needles and salt hay,
And blueberries by the roadside
Free for the picking
One at a time or by the bucketful,
Sweet with the dawn and moist
With teardrops of fog-rendered waters,
Slowly lifting, burned away by the sun
Always abiding, written on the heart.