salt waves embrace the broken,
moon on haunted shore.
The biwa weeps on blind hands,
but no ears hear these chill winds.
though stronger coffee grinds
You (are) woke in the morning,
to find/fog on the door; her
lips touch the silhouettes of unreal
with longer fingernails
You (are) wont to live in the secret,
classrooms; your current lovers’ /unborn
dreams scratch future chalkboards
so happy to have them
You are w(h)et in swordfishes
hero thoughts; swashbuckling/gangplank
oceans poke you back
"for whatever we lose (like a you or a me)/ it's always ourselves we find in the sea" e.e.cummings (it was his birthday yesterday 10/14/1894) I noticed Amy George had posted this quote after I wrote this poem, quite coincidentally - it really seemed to fit so I borrowed it, thanks Amy!
The pelicans are dreaming
as the sun rolls down
out of low clouds, to the side of the hill.
They are the advance team,
the rest to trickle in
over a darkening month or two.
Are they supposed to be here yet?
They are white enough to be ghosts of pelicans
in eternal migration,
just checking in, until the real pelicans arrive.
A stiff breeze off the spillway
makes for a struggle.
Legs burning, rounding the twist,
I am slowed by the skates of children,
their dogs on long leashes;
slowed long enough to glance
past one man and his five fishing poles,
to aureate slivers of mainsails at sundown
and a line of egrets, or shooting stars,
a foot above the water.
I hit 25 on an uphill climb,
passing a younger man at a thin place
in the road, where wild parakeets
build electric cradles to a 100 kilovolt hum
There is no rhythm
to the clanging of the bell
hanging from the buoy.
Our camp fire, the barking seals
infused by the fog horn's moan.
for my friend Khalden
They are such
we water with care;
they love at our mercy.
Though strong and beautiful,
fiercely loyal, they cannot stay.
They arrive full of belonging, and
willingness to trade some of their nature,
to stake a large claim to a small piece of ours.
All dogs leave too soon; and join the growing lines
of hieroglyphics, scrawled in the arcane tombs of our love.