As the glowing sky dims,
over water, over ocean-
floating pier,
men appear out of the bushes
and the drydock anchors, hushed thinkers
and fleeing criminals, all struggling
to pantomime the slow,
open and shut
motions of the hand of god
(God, who is fleshless,
God, who is the ethereal,
God the sublime).
It can only be for the sake of poetry that this
innumerable, unnameable presence
has limbs.
It can only be for the sake of my heart that this evening, Venus
shines brightly over the bay, pinkly radiating
with a blank and listless beneficence.
There can be no beatitude by the ocean. It is too weighty.
7.18.10
No comments:
Post a Comment