I learned of green water in Lake Michigan
Where the remnants of sparklers caught in the sand
Blistering my feet in lunar circles
Shining over small towns that rock you to sleep
And city skylines that embrace you

But I had no time for lakes in ironic August days
Because I was called softly by Ozian shops
And the humor in strawberry fields
And the slow jazz of used-book stores after dark

Little did I know, I was neglecting the beauty
Of never having to come up for air
And watching pajamaed July light fires and dig holes
Ignoring September's curmudgeonly
Shouts through numbered windows
And carried away on the El

This is a January June, a starting anew
A moonlight tide carrying me along coasts
Where emptiness fights city lights
And I find my place in the thick of the fight
Where time nestles weary before sailing ahead