year in review

january

the moon swung a bit

wide

—

february

I noticed our reflections

in the stars

and tried not to look

—

march

I tried juxtaposition

—

april

there were times

when april

ceased to be

—

may

aster in morning

paintbrush in sunset

simple sky

—

june

I tried getting close

—

july

I felt far away

—

august

angles to try

—

september

a million envelopes

sealed

—

october

there was fog

—

november

taught me how to see light

—

december

taught me to wait

stream

meet me outside in shades of gray

with a coat

and a sign that you see

where we walked on the beach in Oregon

—

great gray clouds cling to water unsteady

unable to hold them

flung inward

to rocks of red and black

and brown and deep smell of rain

with moss

with rot

with wood made soft enough to carve our names

with fingernails

only a little bit of grit

a damp dust to later clean

and think of that morning

—

beach born to creek mouth

spread wide and spitting wood and rocks

but mostly rocks

in rolling rumble moan

at each toss

back and forth

though always a little further

and a little closer

to out to sea

to out to water

—

born back to crack

and break and build this beach

where you and I were walking

watching figures in the fog

made to bade the water to come in

but it was coming in

on its own

—

a cord of light stretched out

over the indeterminate horizon

now breaking

pieces each so small

now long

in frail fragmentary waves

—

the day ending or beginning

a gray light to think

and hold everything in stark

clear contrast

with what was

and what would come after

on that strand of sand so rough

and olive skinned

—

and the silhouette became a figure

and that figure became a man

animated by cold

a leg stiff out behind

and lagging leg

pull up to watch the waves

—

and he cast a cloud’s shadow onto paper

with whispered words

wavering like the sea

before and behind him

lines that were

upon closer consideration

not in this language

—

and he laughed and said

this is the one

as if that was all there is

the one

—

and pulled himself on

with the gull-like garbled laugh

to announce himself to the tide

that was coming in all of its own

with all of its own

—

a cord draped off the moon

to drag it in

but it came willingly

and was welcomed as a necessary decay

—

breaking rocks into smaller rocks

rocks into sand

into the beach

in Oregon

that I ask you to see with me now

be with me now

though it was long ago

and I am waiting

for winter

to sweep up this ragged rug of fall

fragment from a hotel room

and you

who cannot understand

my tiredness

as arm becomes numb

and breath becomes death

in the cold high plain

in the bone-like light

from the moon

ocean’s moan

oh how cold these bones

born inland by the wind on this crippled wave?

hounded by the shadows deep

spit up practically clean

in one moment glistening gone

as the moon dips water drips light

into this half-lit night called day

—

fog rumpled spreads sleek

over this calmed cove with a forgotten name

feel the deep freeze that will not freeze

that will not cease this restless turn toss and gulp

of current unseen and almost unheard

but for these bones of trees kept hidden at sea for centuries

return at night as strains of granite

in the black bed of a sailor’s grave

fishermen on the pier

morning wash went gray come afternoon

sun went pale and sort of sick.

here they lie and lying exaggerate the catch

though they’ve caught nothing

—

silence

even the gulls sit mute

huddled on the old wreck of sunken concrete

metal like fish bones thin

and almost unnoticed

protruding from the punctured hull

—

catch seaweed which is a maiden’s hair

which is a lie they told long ago

—

fishermen high above the sea

swing back pivot

sweat for a few minutes

—

but the breeze is cold and whispering of rain

so this will be the last

this will be the last

this

—

how high before hook snags the sky?

September

oh September

your sunflowers so tall

your grass cooler

your ravens’ call

I could dream of autumn

in this shade from lingering heat

the garden is grown

constellations

hungry for the midnight sky

the wash of emptiness to empty

this mind

—

in the morning there is water

and play of light

and playful bird to teeter

drink

cocking eye to see

if I am watching

watching fly

—

the sunlight bends to branch to bathe

this sore spot of ground in shadow

shadows fall and shift

soon there will be light

then night

again

—

and in this dream

this dark

this sky of midnight’s yearning

casting thoughts to the spaces

between stars already gone

there must certainly be

a shape of something

seeds

will all hands now please

rise

my words are wooden

and round

—

human hands

cannot build

this sky

—

a mountain moves

we are all settling

down

—

a spider web

catches seeds

Driftwood

we are water

slow sway of sea swell

drawn in currents taught

caught in the cycle of stars

—

will the stars lead me true?

black and white

I dreamt of you at Bosphorus

a shadow in the leaves

gray beneath the rain

calcified in metallic motionlessness

—

a boat without a captain

a queen without a continent

we are in-between

spaces that will not fit perfectly

—

where will all the warships go?

you asked

when the song ceases to sing

bobbing on the waves?

—

you were always looking out to sea

after all

while I was always looking at your face to see

a sign of a soul