The Coast
I. The Sea Birds Land
Blow blue ribbons of the squalling sea,
dip, down, dip and duck the spray go
birds, mingling crops of the sea,
the tin sea, blue, gold, white-tossed.
Above that ten ton thundering border
gorge through the breast the giant coast rises
with bright fearful eyes of frost
flashing their black-grained
salted lids.
To see! To see!
Blood in the eyes in the fiery waves
haunting the corpses of the sun.
Whacking the waves,
the birds come;
feeding in the dark halls,
their legs rove.
II. Two Strollers at Low Tide
I walk over rocks strewn like stones of old castles,
seaweed smell in my hand.
Above on the fighting slopes
the woods are shadowy, slendered by darkness.
The polished fires, the stone fires of the sea
flame out of the night, I hear
the goose quack, the slithering
of water in ferns, blowing
supernatural words to the smooth stones. If the land
breathes, if stars upheave, break out in frenzied
points of warning—burst the radium
dawn glowing agate distant, the bright cheek…
As I walk in madness stolen from sleep
and the sea upfolds its lips
gleaming, unlovely, sad—the meadow-started
bird becomes a dungeon of grief, remnant of the stalled past,
out of place. Now another figure small as birdsong
catches me. The green air washing. My shadow bent.
The sand swelling light dissimilar on two faces.
The wind height offshore moves
and mist springs coil into light.
III. A Rose Breaks Out
Lovely and undetermined, the rose
in the cliff’s side, the spark of time,
asphalt and timber breaking in
soulless solstice moon bright…
Heaven bright, reach these hands into the bruising light.
Eyes luminous, lovely,
Light
in the varied world, eyeing our savage eyes
strangely, think of us
fair, hold to us, light,
light before sun waves spilled
in our green graves,
light under blades, beginning light
through first eyes’ sight.
IV. Frightened Child
Striking at the heavy branches,
I ran through the ghost grey thickets
moon-filled with exhaustion,
trackless, unknown, pursued by the
fainting hordes of breath who held me down
under the shingled light to gurgle
the faint pool’s restless life.
Mother knew I was afraid
as I told her
myself.
Is heaven
early that
it defends?
V. Listen
SsssssT!
On the thunder lightning like glass rivers
over mordant mountains
streaming gave the soul blessing,
these geese like the fir’s buckshot
spreading and beating and making a new wind
just under the moon’s shimmering.
In all weathers
you may come down to this lake
and drink its sap
deep.
VI. Lovers
Your tears point,
point past my heart
and I hear the flapping wings
rising above the squalling sea.
No—
not yet, my luscious!
Let the thud of the beat dismay the senses
of a lingering confusion.
We have this when
in the moment before morning,
day, the fluting flowerlet
holds back its naked bird,
we’ll feast our love,
and drink our time!