The Last Line

Last Walk to the Sea

Somehow we're always eager to get there, trotting to the shore
Edged by the detritus of death the small waves leave behind.
But the different horizons or divides don't deter us; we search
Its elements for pleasure without shame, for simple sun, or joy.
I stare at the grains of sand channeling Blake to no avail, see
No infinite expanse of time or worlds, only demarcations.

Off White on Ivory

The smell of vanilla is an excellent thing,
The dull basement where we all meet,
Something we can all agree about, and start
Again. If anything troubles me about the way
Clouds always approach at sunset (sneaking)--
Or the constant loss, always, of everything--
Even the cheapest cheap candle seems Eastern
And hot, the fruit of an orchid, excrutiating
And desirous. Or I can go to the kitchen,
Find the brown glass bottle, unscrew the top,
And find there something plain, and superb.

1.21.2005