Southampton, Long Island,
gentle August summer day,
he wore white linen,
heavyset,
overlooked by some women,
smiling earth-brown eyes
welcoming,
and, to me,
as he held a gin and tonic
beneath a
spinning ceiling fan,
momentarily,
thoughts of Hemingway
in the Florida Keys,
then, refocusing
on him,
in white linen,
he already
had my devotion,
swiftly sailing,
as if in a regatta.