WEBVTT

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There's a poem
dated later in July.

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It's called "Long Island Sound."

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And this was one of
the first of the poems

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that I actually got
around to writing up.

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"Starting the day at sunrise,
there is an escalator of light

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to ride out on the waves.

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And among beer cans
and apple crates,

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smell of rotting
fish, our anniversary.

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Reaching to fulfill
herself, she is becalmed

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and will sleep late,
as I kick driftwood

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with all the tenderness
left in the world.

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Behind me, a dark continent
westward, its silver dagger

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poised, the gleam of it.

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Nights, hearing the wild
pigs run in their blindness,

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I've not felt such fear.

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And wanting to be back
home in the Sonoran Desert,

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I recall she collected
fragments of seashell,

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fossils of anemones in
the coolness of dawn.

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She could be the sun
reaching over the ocean.

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Her sleep is that
ancient, murky, and deep.

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Oh, as the tide comes in."