In that other place,
in youth

a calm water
broke.

The culprits were
defacialized.

Intent on getting through
the waves,

I came upon a harbinger,
a black

rotted goat, floating
in water.

In this allegory, we are here,
and here

I saw in morning light a sex
glow red.

The gulls were pressed
across

the waves, across the blue
horizon.

Stretched taut like this drum,
gusted out

like this sail, focused
out like

this eye of a lizard. On the
beach,

the white, liminal edge of
the day,

edge of the sea-squall,
aubade.

[from The Boston Review]