After a bottle of wine,
a little smoke,
watching "Sixteen Candles"
with a foolish grin on my face,
I remembered Marie Pinchet
my freshman year
behind Sherman Field
in the grass
along the river.
I turn officially old
in two months,
double nickel, 55.
All the oats I've planted
have long since been gathered.
Yet the smell of the marshes,
and the bells of the fishing boats
foretold a life near water.
My one love, the woman
that holds my heart,
has always been the sea.
Like my good friend said once,
Drowning is a sailor's only way home.
Marie, ahh, Marie...
The sky was so blue that day.