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All the Reckoning.

              all the stifled wrecks of knolls greening,
all the midnight shoals turned
        olive with severed tongues of seaweed,
                     all the spit of the sea asking for release,
        all the notes dancing on the belly
             of their own sweet wills,
        all the beaches re-fencing the sea's pain,
all those quiet sacrifices marking midnight,
             all the sharpening speed of
        knowing, hurried and hushed,
                                 all of it,
               all the swirls as I watch
           what whiles away--
                no, no, not in that sickness of parting,
        not that unattached watch,
                           not that mess of stanchions which raunch up
             the so impish gnarl of manzanita,
                     not what sips up the ice-less ripples it makes,
not that something not so sure of
                              and yet just this side of clinging,
        but rather that lightning flash
                                   when a bend in the tree's bow
                              gives the nest a try,
                                   when a thin waterfall heals enough--
             a lone silver finger
                              brashing the shale into rust--
         when a pool slouches like quick tears
             into the sand, pedestaling the falls up,
                     when that wren's notes wilt in the white mist,
            when the grass on the cliff cannot
                                               catch again's
when the waves sneaking in hang
             on you like a shawl,
                                 when each clamber of song is
        the sea amplified, louder and then,
a crash and a snap and a spurt,
                               a bellowing laugh louder than Heaven.
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Author:Jagodnik, R.W.
Publication:Atlanta Review
Article Type:Poem
Date:Sep 22, 2018
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