A Ballerina, On a Shaking Shore

for W. C. Williams, and some others

There is a flickering
of midnight torches
along the edges of Atlantic beaches,
these shuttering retreats,
ghosted fall houses of Eastham,
Wellfleet’s quiet drive-in,
Truro’s barque emerging above the waterline.

Oh, Newman, what bitter jokes,
and shambling hallos you wave,
across a rocky continent,
toes that know Pacifica sands,
Brooklyn’s strange coast.

And we, still seeking
she who sings worlds into being,
seeks impossible
this ill defined, this
task list,
this weight and expectation,

She is dancing, she is unfound,
defining and defying
the colors cast around her,
a world we cannot enter,

but we glimpse at pieces,
cinema, poster, teasers and trailers,
her world is moments, flashed shadow,
flickering against the dunes,

and slipping across, then beneath the waves,
into strange cities,
subaqueous streets and alleyways,
temples to a sub mariner,

A dancer, perfect,
sunk beneath the waves.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s