All alone on the shore,
smart in place,
yellow rich in sun and shade,
and the purer for it.

Brought by storm
or on a wayward breeze,
yet you found me here on my pilgrimage,
enamored as the years advance
and day grows late.

A spider in the green spins
the links of its dance
for night and stars till done.

But, tell me, are your thoughts
bitter, too, or have I found
another dreamer too weary to roam?

…That I might moor
and keep the wind within
beyond the sea.
Ah, in Eden.
I shall keep at it.

Stephen Cipot

Garden City Park