4
Temporary lives in the tidal slough
where four feet out the bar has become
a long slice of sand, parallel to the beach,
glazed by the wash
of the receding tide
(the water as silver and quick
as a school of alewives).
There is a need for continuity of purpose,
a study beyond the instant.
The moon tilts
like a rakish hat, those dry
lava planes called
"seas" clearly visible above the horizon.
A crow flies eastward. In the distance
children, dogs.

6
The drowning man’s thirst.
.
Building a structure out of moments of clarity.
.
Let’s imagine ourselves through this one.
.
To heal the schism.
.
As if to demand of the listener
light streaming through high clerestories,
The mechanical squeak of a gull’s wing. To deny clouds
to deny grey flowers
to deny all colors. I say
the lips the hair
the purple iris.

7
Said nothing. Slipped a knife
between his ribs.
.
The war to end time.
.
Had to climb over a wall
to get here.
.
What you want
is a strenuous analysis
of the simple
act,
the doe
forming
its cheek
to the man’s
hand.
The fact:
her face molded
to the man’s hand,
the geometry of passion
for all practical
purposes endless.

9
The mythic event of entry into the earth
made banal by the proliferation of tunnels. I know
what the hill hides, what’s under
the hill.

10

ON GREAT SOUTH BAY

All day the night-chill
nestles beneath the eaves of the house,
waiting for darkness.
.
The sun seems to hang in the sky.
.
Any source of joy.
.
Underfoot, the weathered terrain of old boards.
The sharp squeak of two trees
rubbing their branches.
.
34 swans on Great South Bay,
a dozen baymen, and
one white sail. Sharp steady breeze
southerly, off the ocean,
sun to the south.
Wind-blown sumac.
.
Because a fire was in my head.
.
Low sun through the thicket of overgrown sumac.
Now 46 swans on Great South Bay
feeding and preening and
spreading their wings to the last light.
.
And then
the dark passion
intrudes upon sunlight, my heart
aches and a
drowsy numbness,
or worse, the stalker that
battens on happiness.
.
And I built him a bower in my breast.
.
Very quietly trying to change things.

 

Copyright © Mark Weiss, 2004.