This silver light could dissolve everythinginto one substance. Already the bordersof sand and ocean and air are unclear,
I wonder what Spanish poets would say about this,Bloodless, mid-August meridian,Afternoon like a sucked-out, transparent insect shell,Diffused, and tough to the touch.Something about a labial, probably, something about the blue.
We knew about the ocean: sharks and moods and pearls. Flood waters in Brigantine.
August, goldenrod blowing. We walkinto the graveyard, to findmy grandfather’s grave. Ten years ago