Reading Eliot on a Boat in Elliott Bay, WA
sound, so they say,
is a farewell; wave’s distant Doppler,
this observer that taps or laps
like a driver, almost lost — snaps a rudder,
engine’s twin: forced air — there’s history
there, abaft the speaker, I can’t
hear — a ring and bright flag — snow
crow to you like sea-lions smiling, song
stuck in the rip rap — no notes
along the lighthouse here — nothing
on rocks — only water — water
then mountains — mountains
then light — light
then darkness, darkness,
then
A Love Poem w/ Coqui Frogs in the Rainforests of Volcano, HI
frog, or fog, or the brief motion that begs
a log from some fallen tree — listen:
like Sunday’s terse mass it rains more in the past —
think about it — here we sit and
stitch our sails while barn cats prowl in pronation — there are
all kinds of song —
I haven’t the heart to tell you:
the one made of lehua and rain;
the one
where a twisted tree follows
a marriage proposal, just like Daphne’s fall — imagine:
nēnē in the night sky; soft call, graze or browse
though it doesn’t matter — there are seeds
in the shrubs, shouts
from a broken house mouse left sordid by the door — nothing more —
‘ohi‘a grows everywhere you say, even lava,
that’s just cooled — listen to that laze-glow night —
it sounds
ash-breath hue;
hip-click coqui call
leading me back home to you —