Mermaids in Rain

April unwinds the usual way –
rain today and yesterday’s highs
low, although there is no snow

sitting on the horizon with mermaids,
who comb their hair into clouds,
brush out time fleas – and time does.

I think of flotsam on a beach,
building headlands from the breath
of waves, the reach wind enjoys

down ocean spines – I think of
events, the scree from our tumbling
lives – and during the quiet conversations

mermaids have with wind, I think
imagination holds a greater grip on
us than duty and desire – a greater

need than the ticking time-bomb
which rends the space between
the peace of a solitary tree beside

the ocean and bank accounts,
a house, three children, two pets,
a sport car and Chablis.