Pelagic, and: K 265, and: In Salt Meadows

PELAGIC

I face an ocean, its lurid rush and pullThe same as ever, though I have aged.I step in—small cool splashes on my calves—Then shoulder through hard linebacker waves.I dive beneath a breaker and surfaceIn hissing warm swells, brine on my lips again.

I swim a while, then break to breathe and floatIn foam. A clouded yellow butterflyHas trailed me out and veers nearby. It spinsAnd banks above, my body its nearest ground.It lights on my chest, wings unhurriedlyClosing like bellows. I strive to stay still.

It's off, fast as a blink, alive in the sun.I spin over, face down in the lappingAmber glass, the pelagic summer rollOf original sea, the sandy glintOf bubbles climbing in the goggle's pane,My arm swiping down in time like a fluke,

Mottled in swarming undersea light.The breakers roll in to hide the beach from me.I imagine I'm in a world onlyOcean and sky, four billion years agoOr in a time to come, floating withoutThe earth to save me, as long as I might.

K 265

Our house is filled with stars. Our son, just turnedThree, peels tiny blue decals from a sheetWhite as dawn sky and decorates the piano,Old magazines, the kitchen floor.

He sings his song, a song that's many songs,Just as he's composed of many moods and minds,Many words for one melody: a songWe all know, the "Alphabet Song," and so

We're taught to read and speak, though it's also"Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star," so we learnTo be at home with forces vastly far away,"Ah vous dirai-je, Maman"—how briefly

We're young—and Mozart's variationsCame true, and "Baa Baa Black Sheep," all one song.My son can form from it his own song tooAs when he sings himself to sleep each night.

The city's fogged into a frozen nebula,Each streetlight a remote sun muffled by mist.Alpha Centauri, our nearest star,Is so far that to think about it hurts,

And we're here, singing in the very heartOf a heavy star, alone together with musicTo warm us, the stars we're born withBurning until they've used themselves up.

IN SALT MEADOWS

Blood ark and aster, gale-flattened bulrush,Purple loosestrife, stargazer, and coffin box,Summer airstream, arrow worm, and oystercatcher,Father Sunset, while we stay here sing us that song:

Your sons, brittle star, surf, and firethorn bush,Conifers and carp, catfish, speck of hawk,Bog rot, grub, great-tailed grackle, egg snatcher,Sudden damselfly, bull shark, sturgeon, tooth and prong,

Your daughters deadly too, sedge and sea rocket, raccoon,Last of sun igniting runnels, lava flowTo bay swollen with sponge, mosquito, and mudfish—Sing of sorrows, cyphers, corals, and crows,

Ghost crab, nettle, anemone, moist moonBloomed to mushroom cap, glasswort, silvery minnow—Rainwater course with salt, mixed like a wish,The stories we survive, salt grass, and swamp rose.