The whales leap, the sport of giants.
Flippers, huge tails smacking water,
joyful, cutting across the bay.
Blowholes snort and slash,
rending the blue-silver surface,
sending spumey shouts into the air.
Now the boats charge, sightseers cheering,
jockeying for place. The giants plunge
and dive, no use for mortal ways.
The water moves in restless eddies
above their vanished forms. As far
away as you are, you can’t stop
watching, can’t help wanting more.
As if the answers to life’s mysteries
lay right before your eyes.
(Puerto Vallarta, March 3, 2008)
I tell my editor
I want a jump cut here or
maybe a quick
dissolve to show
things changing, transforming
these lives, these
people on the screen
they don’t matter
they’re only lives on a screen
but you and me, we’re different
we can’t end up where we started
one way only
not like these flickering lights
our solid bodies moving
as we dissolve
For Anne Michaels
Though I hold your hand in my hand,
and press my fingers against your back
to feel the coarse grey cloth of your sweater,
secure where it bruises my fingertips,
the tea spilled across these solitary pages
is like a hand reaching outward or a
bird flying past my window,
telling me you’ve already gone.
He stands, head bowed,
eyes staring out and cap
held like a cup.
I've been here all day,
he moans, and I haven't
got one dollar.
The crowd’s restive, foaming by
the drowning man,
avoiding his anger.
Have a good day, he says,
showering down a beneficence
of nothingness on the sidewalk.
Glowering, he stands up full—
not much when all’s considered—
while the steady stream of feet take
careful steps around him,
Moses dividing the waters.
Their waves break against him,
fall back onto the shore,
this sorrowful stone,
December 15, 2008
Goose Lane Editions Launches New Online Media Resources
December 15, 2008
New From Gaspereau Press