Her Mona Lisa smile was a harbinger

of not knowing what she wanted.

Emerging from a tour of the sardine factory

in Machias, we were overwhelmed

by the intensity of the light

as vivid as the sun in Provence

that stimulated the glory

of the sunflower paintings of Van Gogh.

A humpback whale rose out of the water.

We made rubbings at a Union Cemetery.

We combed every flea market

from Bar Harbor to Wiscasset.

We couldn’t stop winding the vintage clown

that kept ticking as we drove along Route 1.

We danced on the beach on a windy morning

to the music of the lapping surf.

Our metal detector found a gold wedding ring

and a silver dollar in the sand.

We slept in a baby-blue Beetle listening to Jaque Brel.

Sweet grass smoldered at the Pow-Wow.

I beseeched her with the pores of my skin

and the marrow of my bones.

Going home she was either elated or silent as a stone.

Now love letters from the past must be burned.

I keep a loaded revolver in the glove compartment.