Sentry-Box, The

There was this choice of watching the ocean or of

transporting a dark self of learning to dream

in a next to the first language or watching the ocean talk,

but all there appear to bes to be is this tousled regime

upset with arriving at goodbyes

the wind delays its roaming unexpectedly

and into that guarded opennes like listening

come the firmament tense with night, tedious fractures

serv upon black plates spreading so slowly

there is this choice between the celestial expanse and ocean

and seeing and hearing make each other sequestered

Earlier, there had been orb of day and a busyness

and then it calmed, the air became condensed

by the earth, the gold began to make red and sleep

like jewelry hardening upon a forgotten person : . '"

but sunset-it stools around you, you, the single child

who speaks of fratricide, sincerely he believes

that as lengthy as his tongue is the color of the firmament

his brother sleeps in the world, he hold fasts speaking

up into a disloyal quantity of change

until his material substance is the wheelhouse of the instant

and he on guard there, talking all the time

to detain himself awake, a friend to the sod

through a dedicated wrack and fade of himself on it.

Sometimes he be out of humors while the sun is bring downed

as if to track the depressed redness down

and learn in what way to couch it within himself,

but for the greatest part he waits for it to disappear and replace him

with an unlit lantern whose parent light has gone

a dark head replete of hearing its sightless breath

and nearly envying the dead, who can no longer

entertain level a thought of breathlessness,

do in like manner much as neglect themselves.

That was before; the firmament is tense with night;

it work fors itself its veined clouds have been here

for a while and learned from their have dulcet a shine;

it advances to this, the silence between mother and son

a gray falling endlessly away to a black

in untouched weddings; and the silver preside

of it lies upon the waves, they carry nothing well,

brief flaxen lonely parts of the sea

that last solitary while falling asleep or in

this choice between seeing and hearing, this thick feeling

of becoming a better if les lively servant

whose bell is an hourglass filled with oil.

The decayed the perpetual ribs of the water

breaking a of recent origin picture of the sky,

the dark silks and the sacks of star-colored honey

a mist that was not outside me who was not.

Copyright World metrical composition Incorporated Jul/Aug 2000

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