Out came his loneliness.
Every evening he watched the sun set on a junk pile,
Angry at the tears of rusted bed springs.
Other directions were open to him.
There were the fields the sun changed the shape of,
Dancing yellow across them,
The mountains the mist rose off,
And on evenings before there was a storm,
The leaves turning upward and white.
Sure it would grow dark,
But through other eyes
It is a pleasure to watch rails as a train leaves them,
And after it is dark,
Even a sparrow’s wing can tear open the moonlight.
Remembering an event from childhood
Made a mist like cataracts burn off into a radiance.
Before anyone else got there,
His grandfather went down to the beach for a swim.
There was a storm
One night before a morning he went with his grandfather.
The waves crowded the sand with dead fish
And dead fish floated on top of the water.
Their skins were iridescent and their eyes were flat in the sunlight.
His grandfather went into the water and swam.
Then he turned around and waved for him to come in.
At first he walked with his arms raised above his head;
He didn’t want dead fish to touch any part of him.
He looked at his grandfather who was still smiling
And slowly lifted his feet
Until he was swimming through dead fish.