Seasmoke

Birch cinders

Black as youth

Lightning salt

Shred rope on pier

Gulls, pikes, mackerels, eels

Old salmon in the white stream

Painted with something familiar

I think of only you as I watch them.

Why do I think of you?

With a weary croon, you whisper

"My love, I am cracked and blistered

as old paper skin."

O beauty, O pagan charm

Your face  mangled by a shrike

All that I can see, 'neath the harm

are needles for teeth.

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You are the steward

Of this faithful red lamp

Wick in your mouth, you lap

The wax that has spilt over

from this dying flame

Crackling as it burns, it sets alight

The shed skin, the tawny earth

Falling softly to the ground

from the violent deed

As I look at you

All settles quiet

Our clothes and crying skin,

on your oily wooden floor.

O clean, pious incense, tell me:

How wise is really the fool?

If he but walks upon you with a foot,

And covers the two,

The naked young souls

He turns them dark with soot,

He turns them beaten bare.

❈❈❈❈❈

Lover, show me your chest

For reluctantly I must

Run my blackened palms

and arrowed battle standards

In through your beating breast.

And out, so very meek

Wearing nothing but a sheet

Comes the ripened old voice

Of chimney smoke

❈❈❈❈❈