A Day At Saugatuck

Driving down brown cobble,
the haze begins orange around the sun
and fades to gray when it reaches
the marina.
People who already live here
sleep with the shops under their pillows
and breathe in too much water from the lake.
But I'm an old friend, and when I try to leave tonight, the streets
will pull me from my car to go to one last store.
So I begin at the street that takes me
to the lake with hallelujah waves;
tents with chiming money and aromas of perfume.
There are couples who hand hold artwork
of ships setting sail, captain raising his flag.
Fudge shops melt in every corner,
and pomegranate seeds are still bursting in my tea.
Wind shouts clearly for the hours to fly by,
bringing mist to my eyes.
Already, I'm at the final street,
lamps building light with fireflies.
People opening purses, wallets, letting their
fingers make final trips over sale items.
Those cashiers, leaving coins in their voices
even after the sun has gone.
I slide my hands across the line of horizon,
catching wind and saving it in my palm
for another breath tomorrow.
I leave the cobble to cool,
while shop's open doors gaze for my return.