Any way that the sky
bruised and tired
as the sun slips into slumber,
leaving the dark bay
to care for itself —
only then, blacknecked geese,
brants — heads straining forward,
wings going steady and calm
against the anxious calling —
any way that it could all make
some kind of sense — the magnificence
of evening, the turn of day
to night.
No.
It can’t be bothered, really.
Think of it as that one
who never turned to look at you
twice, if that makes it
any better. But better yet,
see how the clouds slowly
steadily darken through gold
red purple to black,
how the sun
swells as it darkens and falls
toward the water, its blaze spilling
across the bay.
Off in the reeds, the trees beyond,
birds gather, sing,
and the geese, the brants
their reedy voices
low and urgent.
Watch and listen,
smell the bay,
the life in the muck–
feel the chill come on.
Just that.
It will be dark soon enough,
soon enough.
Beyond Breakers 