Monday, December 13, 2010

203. Stitched Together and Coming at You in Rumbling Mono

on an island narrow, shallow in height, and stretching far out into the cold water

the night slips across it, stern and starboard, in the form of air or ocean

on your island sailing long and slowly through the night and snowfall

the island surrounding islands and surrounded by islands, two fingers out

out into the infinite Atlantic, two fingers dragging in the water and waves

can you tell the difference between ocean at your feet and waves that cover them?

do you long for the island that longs for the sea, the sound, the sunrise over it?

at a point where the pines twist into gnarls of wind in the barren sand

thinking to beyond the point where the last small rocky island holds a lighthouse

thoughts of that one great storm that will wash it all away from you

moving forever east on the highway to move forever back west to a point

beyond Utopia but signs guiding the way, exit past exit past exit to your exit

the land so low low buildings hide the forest till the island slips down into the sea

tendency of perception of sound to diminish as it continues until onset of silence

the use of the “the” that gives your short long island its first and forgotten name

the belief that we cannot leave behind that which we have lived right into us

the credo that we cannot shake that which we have made a part of us once

and only sun that will show the strand of rocky beach at the end

and only night to show us the entire panoply of dreaming that dreams cover up

you do not leave us but live, and the light left on shines more than it glows

at some point in the fireplace’s night a log will burst into flame

a length of your arm held out to replicate the land you stand firmly upon

each grackle black against the sky a tear in the fabric of the atmosphere

look through the black hole, maybe a spyglass, to see what you otherwise cannot

a new way could be something as simple as a wrong turn at the precisely right time

you will find your way because the long roads go left and right, east and west

you will keep your bearings because the short roads go up and down, south and north

the sea at sunset has a golden veneer you are sure will crack into slivers

too many words, too many words, but no stopping them now, these too many words

you heard the turn of a bird and learned the kerning ways of flight from this earth

what opens ahead of you are the words for a new way to live a good life forward

sand in your eyes from the beach at the shore between land and the sea fallen from earth

reasonably assumed given the assumptions you had grown like a multicolored crystal

all the colors of the world are things we think into them for our own entertainment

sometimes sleep is the only way to end the day even when the day shouldn’t end

the sound of the cars along the long highway, the sound of the surf along the long beach

unfurled gently onto the beach, a gentle green aluminum can filled with seawater

arisen from the sea, their skin is salty from water not sweat, even in summer

what you know is your home that seems to continue forever unimpeded

O, Babylon, O, Bohemia, what secrets have you held from us these many years?

when you sleep at night, do you dream of driving over this flat world?

when you dream at night, do you sleep through the sound of the island breathing?

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