and shaking, cat cries,
boots kicking in the alleys
and all night I swear someone
calling from far off please
to come in. I dreamed
nothing, I dreamed I was asleep
with the eyes of my enemy
watching.
The sun, skimming the mist off the marshes,
trees breaking through
like junked ships. At the tips of three sticks
of the wintered elm
three crows, like three
black flames.
That describes it. On the sea
a quick slap of sunlight, the day
set loose.
In the street
early risers with flasks
and lunchbuckets set out
for the port. There is
nothing to tell you, the city
coming awake, everyone
pulls on the ropes, from a lifted window
a man shouts down his hands
such good little citizens.
Hard to say where I’ve been. One place
was a thin skirling music,
its own sound, rain
gusted through rocks,
Arab music the way they hear it.
They played, each his own song
with others, a joyful lament.
A girl danced, dark, skinny-legged.
Others stood to one side listening.
In a doorway a drunk
was taking a leak
he was spitting his teeth out,
a gob of whiteness.