Poems May 1999
Invention with seascape
Lets say our days were not immutable
but free for us to order as we choose.
Arrayed at noon, our possibilities
would hang like summer linens airing dry,
blown front- or sidewise in the saltish air,
simultaneous, available.
The prospect of our seaside lands would sprawl,
as: item, one fen; item, one ravine;
one snatch of orchard bruised with ripening fruit.
Still, at the horizon, what sudden wind
gathers now to dash this fantasy
in swells from distant waters drawing close:
a rack of breakers blanketed in smoke,
rolling, consequential, a travesty
of our push to stipulate or fend them off?
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This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 17 Number 9, on page 38
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