By Tracy; poem that follows is by John
It's been a long time since we posted here; what better way to restart regular blogging than with a poem?
Catamaran Works to Round
Pointe des Aigrettes
Foundational rocks darkly foment,
jutting out to break a wider sea,
reef close and lagoon closed out,
sea urchins shucked by last night’s
heavy swell, ruined by this paretic calm;
purple eviscerate quality of death,
black spines still potent on bleached
coral debris, chilling as joggers crush
shells to tidemarks, and all the while
a limp catamaran works to leave open sea,
overloaded with sunset passengers
drinking a dying sun, even the gentle
breeze fading away to leave them all
becalmed out from Pointe des Aigrettes.
Bristling sea urchins prowl deep beneath
the sailors’ dangling feet, the sea dyed
bloody-black with the ink of force majeure,
all that was written out of their bodies;
darkness offering little buoyancy.
John Kinsella
No comments:
Post a Comment