Fire Island
On the other side beyond the hill
the sea is a bed of flaming pearls.
People are walking as if they always
belonged beside it
as if they knew no other place so well.
Their bodies dangle so easily
off this infinity
like pink-winged flamingos
leaving tiny footprints
on the edges of sea-line existence.
To watch them—
the range of their bodies, statures and colors
walk down together towards that same trident
of sky, water, and land,
is to know there is something
calling them down there
***
The Sister Tree
Everywhere
I divide
I branch
Out
I am reaching
so
High
my craggy fingers bearing fruit
at their tips
All shoots out
from my
brown body—
One mad, certain soul
reaching out
into the uncertainty
with all the force of a watermill
chopping eternity into parts
***
Ode to my Father
I am trying to get a good picture of him,
He doesn’t smile often you know.
It was hard enough to get him to pose
by this gorge, have him dip his fingers
into the marvelous water and say “cheese.”
His eyes old and searching are too dark and melancholy
and he looks too serious in his leather shoes
and two-piece suit beside the merry leaves,
the wonderful world of water sprites.
I fumble with the camera,
mumble a dumb joke
I can’t even remember--
And he laughs
suddenly a sunlight laugh.
His eyes crinkle
Like the toes of a robin
In flight,
And he becomes an age old bark tree in the sky.
I catch him there forever
with the water cascading
triumphantly over this delighted
Indian river god