Fragmented No. 21
A screwed in spotlight, the moon’s
circular head / a swagger of seabirds
in the air, gray apparitions / unbuttoning
the distance / the horizon’s kernel un
-folding its darkness.
If there was heat then it faded to nothing
and / like the stone teeth of jagged rocks
swallowed by a liquid mouth, the sea’s
hunger / spilling salt into the sky
/ like melancholic litter.
Winter’s cracked jug leaks / and
slanted spears of rain jab the sand
/ the faint light is a loose body
spreading December’s shriveling
Walking, but not in loneliness / like a homing
pigeon, but with more tracks / and without a
nesting place / I’m haunted by the beauty of
your legs, like two swans set free from
Memories, in which detachment destroys
their clarity / drifting and sinking / the tragic
freedom of loss, the distant emptiness / after
the moon leaves / after the tide leaves, after
… complete silence.
I did not see the imperfect reality / one must
age first / to be quick enough / Now, for a
cliché / I wrote your name in the sand / but
like an old tree in a flood / it washed away
and the nameless sand returned.