Friday poem

This is several years old, written at night while the waves tossed onto the shore in Newport, R.I.

Narragansett Bay

Wave out of sight, I know you are there
because your cry reaches me from the dark,
through shouting of others, through nocturnal doubt,
through highway cars at my back, through driving fears,
through lights from the half moon and half-hearted sandy shadow.
I see you spark in the distance, white speck of wave,
catching the moonlight’s fire, then stretching,
a watery fuse, burning the surface, rushing to meet with others,
formations of flame, stairsteps of sea, descending
to cover the shore in your foamy fire before overtaken.
I strain for your voice, brother, I, unseen one,
whose words rumble in the distant dark,
stretching also to ignite in the night before crashing.


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