Salt

Sunday December 1, 2013 § Leave a comment

#dialogues

Moving in clarified grace along
the starbright concourse, only
renaming predicaments, & the
moods they broach, poached in
the night’s enclosure, don’t you
see – I’m in Baltimore! On
the sidewalk, pyramids seem
to claw the gale, an imperial
sunrise blackened on the
wind, & words wheel like the
heart, startled over the
land, and the rain-shadows
that link the city’s coral
lights. In a bar by a park
beyond the frosted awning
a giant air-vent smotes the
dead ground, in its smoky
sibilance the livid scent of
drowned linen, or a premonition
or a sleeve of O-zone sprayed
across the railings. When we
walk by later it is without
expectation, which seems to
be not unrelated to what
you’re talking about. In the
harbor, cabs wait slyly with
the persistence of jingles that
we hear escape their half-drawn
shades. Dawn is already
printed here (its morning
already in England) and in
presence of the ocean, it’s
vast, luminous, implied
presence we are surrounded
by a silence we could never
have inhabited alone. And on
the air, the faintest arrangement
of salt.

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