the noon sun shone through
the emerald green of iguanas;
and the smoked fish on sticks
hawked for centavos by peasant children
running barefoot up and down the beach
could not be beat: at any price.
PETER FILKINS
Now and Then
James Merrill
(1926-1995)
Midway through this morning
a helicopter throbs,
disrupting a cloudless sky
that lights the downward look
I've cast, once more, with pleasure
into the pages of your book.
It is June, four months later
on that installment plan
we all sign up for, now and then
remembrance demanding we pay
the bill, remit our loss,
your "Farewell Performance" that day
