Island: the sounding strand

 

 

Nowhere remote
from the breaking wave
or the saline blood that flows
in the limbs of a mind ill-known
in the night-room’s widths,
or the saline blood that breaks
upon the membrane of the night:
the life, the breath of moonlit air,
the sound beneath the threshold
of a sense, upon the shore,
the junction of a silent swell
and a silent land; the sounding
strand of thought beneath the moon
taut as a tuned drum; tangent
to the unglassed window,
the chordless murmur
in the silence of the night
in the silence of the inmost place.

 

 

 

 

Language in a Narrow Place