Dante
you are here
upon the horizon
in space above and below
where the sweep of any constellation you choose
is circling around a point
as you sit
anywhere and watch stars
born from the bulge of the earth
to experience
and not feel abandoned
but found.
how tiresome we can be
in the richness of creation
our weary deaths dissolving everything about us.
a station fixed
with calculation
set upon
the edge of cliffs
cut away a path
ending in the radiant
brilliance of heat
and sun.
while below wheels of dates
intermesh and stick
at a final intention.
the ending of land
before black seas and surf foaming
white in expectation
perched, you might say, on an edge and
beyond one speaking from nothing
due east.
waters green blue
grey where heron hunts
green weed trailing current swept
shallow its length
end reflecting sky to sea
face to face rippled
sand sea tide return
pools across flats
as in memory melting snows
form lake shallow on black earth fields
wind rippling waters warmed
day’s spring in white air
smears blue ribbed cloud
to land’s end,
winds
scumble grey sea
flecked with sail.
I seek comforts of shelter
not chaotic seas
but solid line earth paths