Sunday, September 11, 2005

poem Playa


Pleasure—-our seaside companion, perched as worrying wings on the rail of the porch of the house over azure—-precipitous---ah with the fall and the flutter, as the leaf grieves its summer, grips its slumber as sure as the winters melt, poles precess, and oceans never freeze-—smooth revolution—-don’t we need these assurances—-levels beyond which tides won’t climb, within which we withstand the pressure of waves at play.