From Twice Alive, a poetry collection, which was published in May by New Directions.
Aroused by her inaccessibility, he aches for more
of her life to live inside him. Watching
of her life to live inside him. Watching
the breakers, standing so close he can feel
heat coming off her wet scalp. What is
heat coming off her wet scalp. What is
his relation to this person
before him, so familiar and foreign? The way
before him, so familiar and foreign? The way
he searches out her face, he searches out himself. Gusts
thrash crests of swell, spring grasses twirl
thrash crests of swell, spring grasses twirl
circles in the sand where they stand without speaking. She
wants him to know it’s all charged, even grass
wants him to know it’s all charged, even grass
positive, pollen negative, so when grass waves,
it sweeps the air for pollen. He feels electricity all around
it sweeps the air for pollen. He feels electricity all around
as though the wild drama of the coming storm were already
aware of them, foreigners on this shore. Little
aware of them, foreigners on this shore. Little
sapphire-blue flowers speckle the dunes.
He wonders if he has let himself flatten out
He wonders if he has let himself flatten out
into a depthless sheet, like escalator stairs, whether in the end
he’ll disappear underground without the smallest lurch
he’ll disappear underground without the smallest lurch
of resistance. But when her lavish face turns toward him
beaming, the corners of her eyes wind-wet,
beaming, the corners of her eyes wind-wet,
he yields to that excess, he reappears to himself.
