After so many winters, the summer’s
Sun swims these worn hands and brightens the wine-
Shouldered hills. Coming home, no more going
Far, far away, I bring these memories
from here you can watch
waves blaze into
horizons that bleed and stretch
At the mercy of the wood warp
of indecision, between the famine
within and a compass without range,
I still dance in a sea penciled with despair
You get masked by the lines sometimes
like bluish dye, in the shape of
a wolf’s rib, shot through frost
or that other tigress, fire, though
through our cravings, embraced
furies in those philosophic limbs.
Green sloped searching hills
splash toward the sea
with its dissolving beaches
and cormorants diving.
“Sorta cigar shaped, ” she urged.
“Go get the ball, Orbis, ” said another.
ruffles of surf
draw out shrinking sand.
Today I can think of nothing to say.
Just listening to mute slivers of grass
As pink blossoms sputter around the path.
Fields of sunbright mustard throb in the day’s