iop

see the houses as they were,
low and simple and unlocked,
each holding a family like yours:
bicycles strewn in the yard
and parents talking in the street.
see the houses now emptied,
their contents in other cities,
leaving behind them
graying parents with equity
living comfortably
with new appliances and driving better cars.

see the beach access
open and unfettered,
when you could follow the cresting waves
and hear them crashing
before you reached the last dune.
see the access now,
boarded on both sides
like a clandestined trail
through someone's wealthy life.
sunsets are glimpsed through
obscure houses mounted on views
and a vague privacy.
this was once a barrier island,
only partly consumed by a resort:
still we are, so many of us, captivated.

my only assurance arrives
when i close my eyes and i am there:
a little girl floating in a tidal pool,
or climbing jeddies, or
walking in the neighborhood,
its streets lined with luminaries
for halloween.
it is enough to have sweetness
within sentimentality.
they are memories you'd
like to live once,
or in a pursuit beyond sanity.
i only attempt to give it words.