By Jim Lowell
The Turnabouts are flying in a breeze,
Tacking their way to listless moorings.
My son is at the tiller of his youth,
Racing Whimsy past imagined rivals.
The sense of fall is on the water now.
A troop of geese are keeping pace with him.
He lets the mainsail have a say
In speed and destination, tide and time.
Among the geese are goslings readying
Their solo flights upon the shifting winds.
Does he see his future in such things?
I see it soaring in their outstretched wings.
Jim Lowell is a winter mainlander and summer Cuttyhunk poet whose works have appeared in the Canadian Review of Literature, English, the Caribbean Writer, and elsewhere.
