Monday, July 26, 2010
link to website update
We float on the oceans of Egypt
Until caught and broken
Touched then bound our
Shepherd stars fade
And only our faults will
Finally light the way in
this good hour.
We anchor our vessel now weighed in
Superstition and salt.
The sand and sky know
What danger lies in sailing
And so calm themselves in beauty.
How is it that we
May touch these lonely rockets,
Rising, singly, above the nine o’clock trees?
The seabirds keep their private weather
They make for drunken song this hope
Above the guns and murder.
Toothless and without sleep they cross
The ocean at night
And laughing, remember the act of drowning.
They, also, die of broken hearts.
My mourning hand purges
All this sorrow, by
Burning my papers letting them fall overboard
They light the evening
And call to mind the day
And our frightening nature,
Our mistaken clouds and
Our better, beautiful visions.