Untitled (Eliot, Me) 9-8-10

Two common things
Restlessness and abandon
This morning
Cape Ann
Rocks of Ice
Coated in living salt
Almost to Lydia
Where she lives
Pine and Whipple
Soft Sea lines
Dimpled and Silted
Banks in Collapse
Here built on softened
Peats not afraid of
Erosion
More of decay
And transmission
Of Earth to Sea
On Generational problems
Coated in living rock
Loathing of itself, I
In the Sun
Exposed
Warmed worm drops
Broken loss
Of ancestral lands
Here
Tied to crystal
Cold Waters,
Of this stream
Eyes Reflection
To this river
Where Kennedy’s mother
Goes
From Wilmington
Weaves grave knots
From Roots of Bishops’
Pulpits
Scattered amidst
Shrunken crossyards
Brought in
From Inshore
And planted
In fallen crosses
Along silver
Blue and emerald
Green bluffs cliffs
Whose Lifting slowly
And amping towards
Tossed trees
Towards
The land
Lovemaking
Between sea and river

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Beverly Reminds of Seafarers

Beverly reminds me of Seafarers.
The Town rolls along on Hills.
New England Coast
Has a hard handhold on me.

Its small inlets,
Tiny Harbors which Present
Themselves against Frishermen's
Lodges, Anchoring and bringing Long
Long Taught lines ashore.

Beverly reminds me on
Seafarers returned Wet on Winter
Storms, Storms tossed on clapboards

With salt snow, spitting winds
Winters ghosts of Hawks
Owls of black ice night

Nice Lanie Beverly's Daughter
keeps Summer fruit
Autumn's gourds and orchards.

Vines that grow up beside
Flag poles and Halloween.

Wind is always here
Haunting sounds that
Rub against old doorways

Playing Riddles on our
Own Tides and Sentiments
Now three Generations.

Eliot guards the garden
Rugged rocky coast path
North. Eliot knows rivers

The way to fjord this Coast
With pebbly soft Grey
and Blue beaches
Guards the cold.

Beneath perfect round
Pebbles Death's rattle
Smiling mosses
Lit green in last wave
Retreats partnered in Sunlight

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