Lá sur la Mer

He taps out batiks at twenty thousand feet
Half lotus in the sagewicker basket
Aloft in the clouds
Conversing with gulls mulling memories of
Beach bound peaches
He sees in the glass of the motorcycle helmet
Images of you in thirty years where
You’ll be whom you love maybe even
What you’ll be doing
An unmade motion that seems a notion that is
Closer to memory
Because will he be there for you
As she hopes to be

Constant in imagining what it is
He keeps looking for
Across seven continents he witnesses
An eighth in the making and the
Fire underwater
Violently quaking

A crack in the ocean
A crack in the sky:


All the bricks in Haebangchon can’t make
You forget that you’re not home
A folk of three, a flock feathering the turbulence

Syad avaktaviyah
He, Sandoval looking upwards towards the
Lumbering clouds,
In some ways it is
In some ways it is not.
Syad asti, syad nasti
Your home your Meriadec n’existe toujours
From beginningless time

Your home non-extant and your yard
Bathed in sunflower stalks high as
Your hand and awash in aspirant daisies
As your hand might be raised
By your mothers as they walk
Along either side of that self
You call yours

From beginningless time your mothers
They two may have been three of mind
For a while but he’d never leave or have
Known instead retrieving from Eldorado
All the light of the Earth and the waters
Of Lourdes would just as well be the next

Away though he is another so selfsame
That he might’ve been a brother alights
That sunflower field and calls you
Come over! he says

Sandoval looking upwards wherever he is says
Since beginningless time the both of you have always been here
Earth and sky and sea in space

He says he feels like a mountain
Watching its crown of evergreens felled
Quiet in unmoving observation and torture
Nonetheless moved in motionlessness to tears
Nonetheless moved by that very immobility
Not in so many words does he say this
But in ever quaking breath it is apparent

He tried to say his thoughts are crumbling
His words like
Paper over a fire


Over a bottle of wine she told me
Father is coming home today
Will he be coming to stay
Winds brisk and blowing home
In a burgundy striped balloon
Hear the motor coughing
Slung low and tight and bound to the
Sagewicker basket

An old black bike and shining chrome
Another trip alone and done alone
Shall he be staying
A pirate flag unfurled for all to see
Its mascot a goatlamb a jet mark
On the that sanguine field and engulfed in an ivory circle
Too far from home for anyone to tell
All the stories he’s heard as a child of love

She is out in the field waving
With the stalks the way in and she is
Flashing orange batons capturing the sun
Fiery in the dusklight

He stand there with his hair in the wind
Fire over the basket
Motorcycle slung below touching
Rubber to its wellspring
Burgundy britches slungup overshoulder
Vinyl bomber coat buckled tight against the
Stratosphere and bringing home treasure


The dawn cuts right through you here beside
That skyshore elevated so many stories above the
Footed earth
Line my hopes with memories that I’ll not forget
Until you go

Sandoval says the sand feels just like your mother’s hair
And the waves come crashing in
One after another and he is
Unafraid beneath fate’s snared blue above and below
Because the blue of the water is her eyes
Watching over no matter how far flung

Have I ever told you, she said in love
The story of the day you were born
Long ago to be faded as the memory of it you are
Photos under the sun to see and sight steals is from us
I can hardly smell the season
But spring I’m sure it was and the leaves
Green with the light much lighter than before
Purples I forget quickest but the berries were ripe and
We ate of them as we eat now of absent memory

Your father’s black helmet
It sat by the window and I’d stay up
To wait for the sound of return beside
Your godmother’s knitting and her lover’s theremin
In another corner of the world there’s a beach
Being combed by your father in nothing
But his own skin and he is
Running his hands through the
Sand and catching all the lost wedding rings
Left there by others as they see one another in the fullness of day
And Sandoval says the sand feels just like your hair


Neighborhoods of a city
A garden field atop an ocean of skyscrapers
And in it you look and the horizon is nature
But edge it and it is skyscrapers forever
As passing the once orchards of the dead fields
This is where your home is
An inch given for every two taken
Only so far as the horizontal plane
Can claim


Be sure your yearning’s exact
Upon return from alien months abroad
Stripped naked and watching the hurricane arise
It isn’t disease but mindlessness we fear
Are you hollow, is there imagination left in you
Are you hollowed, have you been infected in your soul
And hallowed thereby
Reaching through cracks and spaces in your spine
Where that rich river once ran and flowed
Through what would be emptiness

Naked in the field beyond the fence
Like its dappled pickets you must wait
For the time to pass until we know
By your longing you are still one
And of us
Are you naked in your hollowness
Let the river return