Tower

You see, by the time I woke up, the sky

and ocean were the samehot white, moth after

moth flown into the window, so it hurt to look downtoward the tower. To let it stare up at me

from its promontoryinto my troubles.

I had to wait till dusk, late dusk, when everything

is some shade of purple, to walk down here.I know the top

is broken like the snapped-off tipof a boar tusk, one side a cascade

of schist. But I stand with my back to it, facethe southern coves,

where mermen used to live

and red coral still burnsunderwater. The wateris a dark blue, air lavender,

earth lavender … Like waking up refreshed, at last,after a long sleep,

to only the sounds of a forest, or like the crust over a wound

sloughing off all at onceafter days of balm, then days of—I have a wish I wouldn't know

how to tell you or anyone, something to do withdestiny and rescue,an eagle pecking at an eel

until all the meat is gone.Patience.

Receptivity as power,rootedness but not

forever, wholehearted form,formlessness …

The wish throbs, mistranslated. I have a wound that won't heal.

The village lights come on.(You know it won't heal.)

The cathedral forgetsits evening bells. Instead I hear

waves. Starlings.Above in the mountains

someone is up late. He's cutting into rock.