Wild Honey to Cold Cells

The late afternoon drooled
Like honey on the lawn.
You always liked that phrase,

And by now you’re surprised
Neither you nor it’s gone,
Although you’ve both been lost

And unmoored, year to year.
Here, cliffs show prettier
Scenes than those southern lawns

Where those words were whispered—
And much, much prettier
Than that New Jersey lawn

Of the gone ‘70s
They half-nostalgically
Recalled. Half nostalgia,

Half boredom, even then.
The past’s why life’s boring,
Which is why you sought then

For a different future.
Here we go. Still boring,
But so much prettier.