I
from a nook in here
a duration of witness
as long as

a procession down there, through
the trees, carriages and poplar
feet from town to town,

staying pubs and housebroken feasts,
shrunk, all, to dance over
a pin's head                       <—a college
    campus
seen from its parking lot

II
from this vantage atop
a slick metal surfboard
hooded, ropely packed,
am running out of surf &

watch the crimson lighthouse,
careful, avoiding the
blue mako in her jumpsuit
and jotting the false priest of a heron
who walks just along the mere,

out of danger, with the
complacent air of one
enjoying his
pedestrian amendment
to ford a path through the
black seafoam of asphalt

to possess a will can be made like iron
in the heart of a very old sun
I traveled through rings and haze
looking for a tradewind curling boldly
at some horizon whence blind to me
slipped ophidian beneath my feet
a shade—
the philosopher's boot struck face
with a lonely looking sound
and clear annunciation
rattling the deck of a turning sunship