Dennis Saleh
On another piece of paper
a manageable poem
is beginning
But I am at the beach
hemming and hawing
with the wind
I cannot get
the words right
to anything
not even the air
which is at a
peculiar perpendicular
to the sky
which is at a
peculiar perpendicular
to the sea
You see what I mean
The sea papery
Clouds merely white
Those who know
how to peel
away the sky
do not speak of it
willingly
Those who can
take the sea
in their hands
take only stone
For pride
to tie to their forehead
For anger
to polish in ash
For grave doubt
to polish to the
brightness of
the moon then bury