| |
back into the sea.
|
He is weary
|
|
of analysis, the small
|
|
predictable truths.
|
|
He is weary of waiting
|
|
in the open,
|
|
his profile stamped
|
|
by a white light.
|
In the ocean the silence |
|
moves and moves
|
and so much is unnecessary!
|
Patient, he drifts |
|
until the moment comes |
|
to cast his |
|
skeletal blossom.
|
The fish in the stone |
|
knows to fail is
|
to do the living
|
a favor.
|
He knows why the ant
|
engineers a gangster's
|
funeral, garish
|
and perfectly amber.
|
He knows why the scientist
|
in secret delight
|
strokes the fern's
|
voluptuous braille.
| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |