Saturday, January 25, 2014

Post Dusk

Dear the one I love, I went to find
the whale.

I took my merciful sisters
in tow, all tangled 
and harried, 

to the post-dusk of a point
in August,

to the undertow and its silent white froth.

The shore cradled dead gulls in
its sand, gulls
that were
merely sleeping,

and I breathed the clean hardship
and hard life, the cold mist, my
own racking grief, those simple
knots of youth as I wander
further from youth.

All was well.

Loving and not loving you are both
cruel and lowly shames.


                   The right ocean is impossible to destroy
       with subtext.

The left ocean is


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