Listen—
The sail flutters and hulls rock
Casts of fishermen whistle their lit lures into the kissing lips of black
In the public lot, an RV encrusted in the style of a Mughal elephant
Who knew the egret could make such noise?
Intrusions without pattern, malsynchronous waves crashing together—
The acrid-sweet sip and the mellow strum of the Polynesian
Dead dog foaming and the girl too frantic to notice her nakedness
A photograph, the lingering scent of the photographer
The ocean smells of lovesickness at night
More and more, gulls gathering for baubles—
Helen’s cheeks: the ass of a woman draped across the bow of the Saudi’s yacht
Glass across the bay, at the appointed hour, imitates lighthouses
Shifting pitches as the Navy helicopters go from far to near to far
Circling around an anchored point
I submerge and am nulled by water—
And for a moment the senses are
Toys strewn about a child’s chest.
Joseph Byron Bennett