Thursday, October 9, 2014

SEA BREEZE Parts Four and Five

But um,
the light changed,
                                        her thigh beside you
safe beyond the crevasse of machinery,
her thigh you imagine beside you,
imagine.  Desire
is like a windshield wiper,
                                                          comes and goes,
                             all that it has seen,
swipes clean.  You have seen
                   No image left.

So the sea was natural enough
to come to
                       in its way—
                      a yacht or little sailboat,
by Catullus, young poet frequently marvelous.
Sail away with me she said you thought.

The grammar of analytic languages
perplexes with contingency.
                                                              Who said?
Who thought?
                                We were speaking
we were young,
                                      speaking something
like Chinese in Coney Island.
Or was it Brighton Beach.
                                                          Or was it raining.