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SEPTEMBER 1997
1.
Pre-dawn chill
Edge of water.
The sun
Not sanctimonious about
Touching the wounds
That itch to be scratched
Pierces the steel horizon
And a carpet of shimmer spills
Across the Atlantic.
—Welcome to you too, sun.
I am here to set grief on fire
To burn what will succumb to flame.
Salt on my lips
Salt-sprays harassing the hair
I stare at things—
Seagulls dive and rise between
The wells and dips of waves,
Shirt flapping covers/uncovers
Two shells boxed in my shadow.
A yellow pebble avoids
Eye contact. Light
The live wire between us.
Iris's cottage squats in a stand of reeds
Roof draped over a brick fireplace
Windows eye-to-eye with leaves
No locks on the doors.
At one end of the veranda
A white futon in a black iron settee
At the other a pale parlor sofa
Moored in speckled greens.
Here I'll spend thirty days
Changing places with the sun.
This morning's buzzwords unfold
Like packets teaming with surprises.
Underpinnings slither
Between the lines on paper
And in the lacework of shadows
Meanings overlap like hats
On the rack—
Hemp, straw, manila, plastic,
And Mao's green cap with
A faded red star over the visor—
Entire civilizations
To choose from.
It is the weight of being alive
That needs to be carried up the hour
Up the narrows of civilization.
The upgrade and the upkeep
Ever steeper.
2.
Nowhere to go but
To the water's edge
Where wind, sky and sand
Talk to each other,
Where clouds
Edged with feathery melancholies
Know their business.
The earth intoxicated with itself
As usual.
I am no exception.
The moon stuck
In the ashen navel of the sky
Watches me stagger between
The polarities of being.
Is the sun already weary
Of watery mirrors?
—Moon,
I am ready to succumb to
The gravities of earth
Take me there!
Instead,
A hypnotic tilt
Soft like a drizzle of love
Follows me around.
Parlor talk will not take me
To where grief in the raw
Sits waiting for me.
It is not at the water's edge.
Too exposed to withstand
A stratospheric shift,
I swing from
One vanishing point to another,
Land in a slow-waking hour.
There is nothing to disdain,
Disclaim or complain or
Rant about.
Nothing to rejoice in either.
For no reason light-footed
Lightheaded lighthearted
I go on.
Nothing to it
After all.
Letter from Halldor Laxness:
"Each day begins but once.
The sun is stronger than the past.
Left on the cliffs of endurance
I turned my face to the wind
and touched like the cheek of a child
was delivered of thoughts not entirely
human—thoughts grazing the horizon
nibbling on things unheard of." *1
3.
The sun slits the ocean
Pushes up swaddled in purple.
Too heavy for itself
Unsteady, it quivers
Pulls itself together—
The touch-point snaps
And the sun—the sun
It has risen for me!
I'm so full of being
Lungs can't hold that much—
Head swimming,
I step into the footprints of a bird
Walk a narrow ridge—
Am holding on to you, bird!
Like stiletto heels on sidewalk
Distant hammer strokes
Rush the autumn clouds
Hurry my skinny-dipping shadow
Ahead of me.
A crimped seaweed
End pressed into sand
Spins round and round
Tracing concentric circles
On the surface of this planet—
How does a thing so fragile
Know such perfection?
Don't you see?
The world is rigged from the start—
Sorrow distorts the angle of light,
Words pursue their separate destiny,
Constellations have nothing new to offer,
A recycling of sorts
In passing.
Having exhausted ruse and guile
Only the rapturous the audacious
Will do.
All else is sap
To a budding melodrama.
Letter from Lucie Brock-Broido:
"We who have come back
Electric with bad news
Always know, that we who have—
Did not come back.
An executioner's career is all assent.
I am bent in the shape of the bow
With its ghostly subtexts—
The sun will go down
As I enter the water as a god enters water.
There is always that promise.
Death is portable." *2
4.
Sinister marauders
Circumnavigate my quick.
—Cannibals, have your fill—
This is the voice of the first departed—
"I want to tell you
Want to tell you
To tell you
Tell you
You...
I want to tell you
I want to tell
I want to
I want
I..."
And he was
Never to speak again.
I did not remove the blade
Twisting in my heart.
Instead,
To protect the heart from verbal abuse
I drew around it
A tall circle of silence.
Dream after dream
He returned to console me.
Wave after crushing wave
The circle received the pain
And in silence
Pain turned to stone.
Standing atop the insufferable
The world trafficking around me
I drew a horrendous power from stone,
I grew tall.
That was then.
This spring
The stone embraced the one
Who carved a rosewood pin
To hold up my hair.
Yes.
Together we climbed mountains
Each to a different vista.
Yes. Together we crossed deserts
Not always holding hands.
Each drank the healing waters
From a different well. Yes.
Words domesticated, housebroken
Kept the hearts warm
Helped us survive each other
Magnanimously.
You
Now across the river of memories
Eons far, breath near,
I
On this side of the river
Waving to each other.
5.
The moon holds on to
Some purple distinction,
Waves pleasure themselves—
No confusion there.
Wind in usual agitation.
Stratus clouds point east
A morose tattered cloud slinks
In the opposite direction—
No mix-up there.
And here it is—
The sun dangling on golden strings
Blistering the ocean's surface.
Today
Even death machine-gun-quick
Pauses for life.
In fact,
The reeds are up on their toes
And the beach plum will bloom
Next year.
Live wire in hand
I enter the bay, swim
Inside the gyrate reflection
Of a mooring post.
Rain needling my shoulders
I turn to shore
Align with a telephone pole
Turn around
Swim back toward the deep.
Walking home
Lungs billow like
Shirts of kids on bikes.
Chin up
The view stupendous
I turn left on Lighthouse Walk
Left under the cobalt security light.
The earth on track
Destination unknown
I a projectile on course to
Nowhere in particular
Testing... testing...
I need a new myth
To chart a direction.
Letter from Basho:
"Wasting the day away.
The world so much in dream,
Not advancing at all.
Took the narrow path, crossed
A bridge where the ten views ended.
Not much chance
Of thinking words through.
One joy of having come so far—
Islands gather here
Haven rests in water.
Major event of the day—
End of the narrow path.
The harvest moon especially bright
Tonight.
Don't depend on it." *3
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