03.18
This jetty groomed :an Assyrian beard
holding fast, every wave
exact –a nomadic tribe
and the grazing herd –throw a stone
and watch how water still circles its prey
–fish live with this
–the deal is they report
which rock is fattest, the water in turns
escorts, barricades, shrinks their eyelids
into burning glass. –whatever moves
is dark enough, a hook
from under its mask strikes a throat
a whisper splashes sideways
and the sea rises –I lift but my eyes
bend closer as if the dead
could be cured on an anvil :this jetty
thrashing against my cheeks
tighter than the way a spy
is still hung head down to drain
what breath is left, no one inhale
its tainted and the forgery
and the waves again and again
brought to the exact spot
as if one splash would reach
its underground stream whose eyes never close
–every rock is afraid, even I am sure
these waves dread the sea that led them here
rapacious and head first its strangling calm
–this jetty couldn’t wait for the drought
to break the water in half
again and again in half :each wave
after wave with the only weakness they know
and I still hold that thrashing tail
that Sunday sometimes gone for weeks
sometimes the stone
I brought in from the rain.
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