From the First Book of the Ocean to Sandra

FROM THE FIRST BOOK OF THE OCEAN TO SANDRA /Glover Davis She is the one who causes dreams to ebb toward deeper waters, dark as oil, where lights rise luminous from great depths and the stars cluster on the smooth skin flecked now with spume then washed as waves recoil upon themselves, sinuous furl of hip and leg as arms open like transcribed petals, yet I know of the unclothed shallows where most things shine in the prosaic light of noon: spindrift, loose cans, mud quivering like jelly, red scarves clotting in the eel grass until the tides return and change the ordinary day. Miles from this shore I step through pools of shade and even here there is a taste of salt on the stained air but I, oblivious of every sign, even branches and leaves, mottling my arms like water muting lights, am thinking of my work and quickly pass through stone archways where elevators wait. I pick my destination from a bank of lights and rise like mercury to the day. But the day is set. The ticking of my pulse is set and every minute moves by plan. Occasionally, in the late afternoon, I long for the sea, her larger rhythms, the slow drift out and then her olive skin. The Missouri Review · 23 ...