says the sign on the red and white cooler
in my neighbor’s front yard. Kids on bikes, curious 
walkers, tourists who wander off the beach 
lift the creaky top. We find smooth stones, 
egg-sized, still heavy with the mountain
they long ago deserted, each painted 
with a word. Should I prop open my door
with imagination, anchor fly-away papers 
with song, or ponder oblivious and obvious 
as bookends? Sunrise could last all day
on the mantle, and I could fiddle with detrimental
in my jacket pocket without causing harm. Visitors
will surely depart with dolphins
nestled in duffle bags, a teenager will tuck courage
under her pillow. I choose wisely,
so understanding remains
for the home that needs it most.

Summer rolls out
on six truckloads 
of pink and green dragons 
with scooped seats,
blue horses and pink cats 
with feathered caps and grinning faces
that don’t wave
goodbye.  Last year for the carnival.  
Hello condos.
I’d wish the ghosts of purple dinosaurs
would hiss through the concrete
and haunt them, but you can’t blame
people who won’t even know
they’ve trampled magic
under their flip-flopped feet. 
                        

Leave your dreams 
in sand: sculptures
of sea turtles, sleeping unicorns.

Etch them with sharp
edges of shells—
love stories:  Leigh and Lynn,

Happy Birthday Marcus.
Even as time vanishes 
in the clean sweep of tide,

             Maria + Jason       forev