From the Island, 1860

1

One day as she rinsed clothes from the jetty

the chill of the strait rose through her arms

into her life.

Her tears froze into a pair of glasses.

The island raised itself in the grass

and the banner of Baltic herring swayed in the depths.

2

And the swarm of smallpox caught up with him

clustered onto his face.

He lies and stares at the ceiling.

What plying of oars up the silence.

The moment’s eternally running stain

the moment’s eternally bleeding point.