Day 3 - Too Much Editing

I'm down to the wire. I've been working and reworking this all day. Mostly its because I half wrote it right before work. And I didn't feel finished with it. And my job has crazy hours. I finally get to go home.

I'm still obsessed with the beach. Which is not new. I'm always obsessed with water. Here it is. My take on a Merwin poem.



Storms

Light and threat
crease and recrease the dark.
Our eyes shutter, close to a dot,
then swell to swallow all last color.
The whine of cars swarming home.
We will stay. We have appointments.

We should turn in…
My stubble says so, your wind kinked hair
says so but we shoo the bewares,
no place but here to want,
no destination except into the blind.

The last crowd, one roaming island,
with lights in their mouths,
and laughter swirling out,
seems a warm steamboat to join.
They take all remaining light in tow.

The night breaks into elements,
the waves clap for our attention,
plead with us to find roof and windows.
We stay the course.
When it hits, the beach loses its glue.
And we are inside the world.

It becomes hard to be,
to know. If flesh is less than rain,
if all wind is made of sand.
And the moment where time flattens
into only pain is nothing compared
to the cessation arriving like a revelation.
This is something. This is everything, maybe.