Tuesday, December 9, 2014

HEART THREAD Parts Eighty-Seven and Eighty-Eight


Roar of the mirror whine of the hedge
ask nothing of me, disturb less than one word does
noise left and right unending
no more nuisance really than the fish in the sea
when I sit and look at surf rolling in
as if I were part of something even this
Battle of Actium before me surf creams on shingle
Antony impaled and Cleo’s left breast toxic-nibbled
and all the lovely stories end at once
I spent my whole childhood believing
and childhood never manages to end
the waves her pure right breast, and go weep.


And have nothing to do but this
in the comfy prison of reality
no more work to do but make time pass
change the names of all those wicked places
salt marsh no hay a bracelet of Whitby jet
I went there for the sky the wet horizon
timothy grass belonging from black mud
weathered narrow boardwalk over muck
a thousand birds and only there ever alone
and no room left to plant the lettuce
barely room for dancing with Valkyries
high above the north sky where once a city is.