Lillian, the ocean, and the Isle of Palms,
fused cubistically like frozen sculpture
of motionless craft forever becalmed
a picture of beach-clinging waters
hanging between the frames by their thumbs.
And Lillian the old skygod’s daughter
parades ashore on the Isle of Palms
followed by fleecy waves that slaughter
themselves as sacrifice for her balm,
crashing on the beach at her immortal
feet like jap endless squadrons of bombs.
Sun-sand-sky welded to ageless water,
seagulls shackled to the gulf like charms,
ocean as static as a krater,
and sands as eternal as the psalms:
my marble memories unaltered.
Lillian, the ocean, and the Isle of Palms.