Gregory Given
A CONDITION
Beaches offer a way to designate
Undergoings of the sea (our visits to its side)
As
what's left over of what in us did reside,
Perfunctorily-now seen,
Among wash-ups of great thinking-
Little hopes pre-sweetened by trust in hope.
Then it recedes and all is shell and irony.
And the careful, marveling walk to the untight grains
We realize is our commission. Wanting
Something like hope again, anger is easy.
The disinvited sea, from now on a poltergeist,
Sits
Stricken by our nerve.
Few have heart to organize. Mostly
Bad flute-playing is heard, dances scrambled.
Sun after sun goes down like praying heads.
One laugh-obscene enough-could strike it back.
That humor enthroated into speech,
"Coming out in the wash" remains slain by slang.
Islands are made.
