Glen Cove Beach

by Herb Stokes

Before time was captured
and rendered
into bits
too small to contemplate
then released, one billionth at a time,
inside a computer keeping count
I distended time while
lying under shade trees,
on a hill that overlooked
Long Island Sound.

Eyes closed but awake to the
sense of summer:

Gentle waves petting the shore
Leaves sighing in annoyance
at a frolicking breeze
The odor of the bowels of the beach at low tide
Children laughing screaming crying laughing
Beach birds bitching
The controlled sputter of a small yellow airplane
printing white words on a blue skyboard
Dads with umbrellas and ice chests
following moms with kids, blankets, and brown bags

Summer and
Immortal
Us.

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