The Half-Abandoned Summer Towns

Sometimes I get in my car on a late October day

And drive north.  Everything that I haven't done-

Raking, visiting-all those reasons for not living-

Fall away.  I pass half-abandoned summer towns,

Admiring the shadows thrown by bare trees

On bare lakes where cold waves lap the sand.

The renegade minister-the one they all gossip

About-would see those waves too, after throwing

His Sunday hat out the window.  He'll be

All right.  Death hugs the underside of oak leaves.

In each cove you pass you will see

What you had to say no to once.

It's all right if you walk down to the shore.

You'll feel time passing, the way the summer has.

You'll see the little holes that raindrops leave in fine sand

And the old fishing lines driven up on the rocks.