Poem for July 12

July 12, 2012 § Leave a comment

In the mornings always start with the sea

enter its glass vaults as it sways
and lifts its body towards the light

hungry for land and cliff
a fine dividing line inked

on the margins of its breviary,
blue washes on blotting paper.

But it is kind to swimmers, divers,
five-fingered stars, the salt skin of dreamers,

at noon there is something dance-like
in its movements, it

obeys a wavering
beat, febrile, restive, sifts

through edges, opens wide,
inhales the sun with grape-black mouth.

Listen for music in its depths:
the drawn-out dawn-lit stanzas

of seal song and whale call spilling,
echoing across a wide dance floor.

Go true south, press your ear to 30 feet of ice
to hear the choirs of the drowned sing.

-Eva Bourke, from piano (Dedalus Press, 2011)

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