Solitude

I’ve known the gentle crash
Of wave that whispers up and down
The slurping beach, combing
Sea-spat shells, distorted weeds,
Two feet, sopping driftwood masks.

I’ve opened up the ancient chest
In a basement a century used,
Where all the silver knives
And forks are tarnished
And there are no spoons.

I’ve climbed the minaret
And cried out in a crazy tongue
I did not recognize, and no one
Came to pray with me but flocks
Whose only sky and word is god.

I’ve laid upon the battlefield
A stiff, archaic nude,
My almost-smile undaunted
By the side-sunk spear, wishing
I were horses in Marc’s red and blue.

2013