The Day:

Oh what comes on the wind, simple and bright, to splash among the rocks

and wash over the feet of a long boned girl.

What air, what light can do to a day!

 

The lighthouse, all whitewash and schoolhouse red, is a beacon of hope,

and a monument to those who find rocks instead of light.

 

The sea is clockwork for the world. From its coil springs the hour of birth.

The sea is tangible yet fictile, impressions leave evanescing rings.

 

The Dream:

When wind and light diminish I dream time stands still, the sea recedes

into fading rings. I dream white rocks stained red, fire, tribal dance,

long boned girls, flames and whirling flesh.

 

 

 

*Part of the Forest, George Oppen