Monday, August 3, 2015

Salt Point Memory

I tried so hard to explain, we were at Salt Point
, we watched the progression of those whales:
vanish and coast

and I tried so hard to explain I can’t remember what
I was trying to explain to Joe.
Tried to explain the law of the cold blue aether.
Maybe I was trying to explain: why I am this way or
how it happened: I don’t know. It doesn’t matter

but his long hair was long,
like honey,
his hood was up
and we hopped across the creek and then
we watched the whales.

And we slept in the crook of the long state’s elbow.

We slept in safety
in the sand
and we were all alone. We slept against a rock.

And we ate our breakfast leftovers with a pocket knife,
Joe feeding me cold biscuits and gravy in the car.

Clambered out to forage for hedgehogs and chanterelles,
we were on our knees and we were on our knees.

I tried so hard to explain
as we wound down the road toward our separate homes,
with cliffs on both sides,
and the sea on one side,
a strange inlet,

and farms on one side, such green pasture;
lovingly I tried to explain and

I think that I did well but I cannot recall

anything at all of what I said,
just the feeling of microfleece
and the ghost story,
and his hand on my thigh which I did not mind
and microfleece and
darkness spreading

like ink through the water of the air.

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