Its No Use
Even when hot wind rakes drought-shriveled
leaves and lizards bask on the skirts of night
even when my best teaching voice slides
along this blackboard of stones,
even then my hands wont bend this space
between our words. Once you cast a green
ridged bottle into bubbling surge, watched
its bobbing form vanish in shadow between
waves. Sun-sparkle gouged our eyes, salt
and sand and rich scent of oil. Our hunger
on all fours, lurching up the beach.
We could have lived here then, where the tar
road ends, near tidal pools. Long ago and we
had bolted our tongues. I had my swollen
thoughts, you had yours. We never knew exactly
who was whispering in our ears or which invisible
lines would haul us out onto our separate seas.
If you've any comment on this poem, Steve Klepetar would be pleased to hear from you.