Past a rug’s nap of black mussels,
below the churning white-sudsed sea,
lie glowing green anemones,
purple urchins’ clustered spines,
and the knobby orange arms of starfish.

A pelican squadron flies in formation
as the sun sinks behind a fog bank,
gilding the tip of the gray wall.
Reflections, like iridescent ribbons,
festoon the shore’s darkening sand.

One bird drops and dives
like a spear into the water
and I’m back with the Glee Club
and the Boston Symphony
and the Wellesley all-girl choir,
more than a hundred strong,
singing Haydn’s Te Deum
like my lungs would burst.