Carpe Diem

The fishermen and the lobstermen, up before dawn,

long before the sun lifts herself above the dark

horizon that blends earth and water and sky into one,

long before most men have finished their dreams,

dreams forgotten or vaguely remembered

when the alarm sounds and they rise

to face the daily chore that has become their lives,

just as the fishermen and the lobstermen have risen long

before dawn to face their lives out on the dark ocean,

they say, the fishermen and the lobstermen,

there’s a flash of green heralding the sun’s morning appearance,

a flash of green light just before she raises her head

to a new day, illuminating the earth, enlightening it,

a verdant flash missed by most men, still asleep

and warm under quilted covers pulled tight, and secure,

that momentary radiance seen only by those rising early,

a brief green flash just before the sun rises,

turning darkness to shadow, to gold to red to blue,

separating, again, the earth from sky and water;

and that flash of green, a mirage at sunrise

heralding something new, is missed by those of us asleep,

afraid, and trying to remember the dreams we lost,

an opportunity lost because we slept.