The Sun a Sea, the Stones a Grove of Sailors

The Sun a Sea, the Stones a Grove of Sailors

The stones are crying, sun-drenched;

Their gaping mouths follow you as you pass.

The sunlight pools in hollows,

fills them up, drowns stones like crippled birds.

This incandescent sea's a mirror for detective work,

in which hard-boiled investigation engenders crime,

and each grotto dreams of a new murder,

hideous and unrequited.

Vertigo claims me; I tumble into auric pools

where the pallid corpses of stones

recite sonnets not yet penned,

and where new fish are born, hot and glittering.

You don't see these fish,

you feel them ... they pass right through you,

and you become the seaweed

undulating softly in a brilliant new ocean.