That faded sign, you know the one I mean, 
    where the ocean lurches like a drunk–

    we can't read it, but rest assured, 
what it says is not encouraging: 

neither only love is warmer 
    nor best place for the moon.

    Right now a woman is tucking 
into a wonderful salad 

on the other side of the island–
    it took the year for her to think 

    of it again. Dogs race around
peeing on one another with aplomb. 

At night everyone is warned away; 
    they spend this time grasping 

    for other words for blue. 
Here comes someone else we will 

miss and miss again– 
    not that you're not staying here, 

    but the village is clever, 
even at rest.