Summer brings interminable sun,

the gulls’ chronic complaints;

winter frayed slate-colored seas,

and the terrors of loneliness.

In gales the dead circle

the tower like blind penitents,

the wind a wailful chorus

desperate for deliverance.

In the tempest’s wake the blood

of small birds spots the glass,

childrens’ frightened handprints,

or sprays of gracilaria carried

heavenward like bits of lace.

The drowned sometimes visit,

shadows of sad consumptives

or seals that walk upright

looking for their skins.

Jim Papa is a fiction writer and poet based in Jamaica, New York. His work has appeared in numerous journals, including College English, North American Review, Madison Review, Long Island Quarterly, and Plainsongs. His poetry is featured in the anthology In Autumn (Birnham Wood, 1994). Papa regularly gives readings and travels to share his work, often collaborating with naturalists and environmentalists to explore the intersections of literature and the natural world.