Reliving: an Outer Banks Poem III

Day Three

Riding back hard to Nag’s Head
(to get discounted beach chairs
with extra large shakes)
we are driving that Hatteras
atmosphere
loose

and connecting
estranged random islands
of wholehearted thoughts
like the bridge
at New Inlet
that leads straight to nowhere

beyond
than I’d rather else be—
where in the blink of afternoon
we rediscover
wide-eyed notions
underneath the Carolina sun—

but the water is colder
than ever,
some great disenchantment
of Gulf Stream
and fervent southwesterly winds.
Yet the tacos at dinner—delightful.