It is incorrect to say, "The dark clouds above
bloom full-blown roses." Unless
superbly engorged roses are terrifying to you,
and fascinating, but also ordinary,
in fact, hardly seen. And here, on this jetty
that points toward the blue abyss
where freight ships disappear,
it is imprecise to say the gulf water sings,
that it is a very old song
roughly sung this rainy afternoon. Because here
there is no music, just a soft monotonous roar
the waves spill across the rocks, a liquefaction of lace,
I think, though I know the water's cold and mindless,
that the waves touch blindly, that they continue
like desire, forcing forward until spent.
But if you follow the stray cat
that picks his way upon the rocks
to the beach where the sandpipers run forward to the edge of wet
left when the waves withdraw
then hop backward
when the waves rush in, it will be precise to say
that an afternoon is when what it was you had wanted turns
unfamiliar. And when the rain
percusses across the jetty, mixing with the waves
until it seems to be falling upward,
it will be correct to state
that the tall beach grasses lean down
because all day the wind subdues them.