I will go now, to Assateaque Isle, and a large
camp store built of weathered wood and rusty nails.
Wild horses will I see there, and flowers for the
butterfly and walk alone in the saltmarsh and
through bayberry twigs. I will have quiet there,
for quiet is rare like gold, rare from the tide
where dolphins swim, and evening full of endless
stars. I will go now, for always near my heart
I will hear the horses gallop by while I sit on salt white sand, their thunderous spirit hearts I
hear on Assateaque shore.