norfolk pines along the shore, that heroic building,
an end for a picaro and a history..
these around the Castlepoint lighthouse (coastal,
written by a mason Virginia, my
fresco): a cloud through the door like blue smoke
in 'the Three Lives of Lucie Chabrol'
and a day's drive to new accommodation..
like hydrangeas chaffing the window,
rags and brass, to Willy who lately aroused and serious
sans khaki got like Berrigan and blocked the town,
who drives now on a Saturday away..
he's read English, fixed memories of a lighthouse postcard
and a fortune constant about the point
where X alone, his gazette and file, Willis amazes