Shanty

Arms raised like cobrascharmed by the zurna ,she conducts the waves,

all cymbal crashes and timpani drums,tubas, basses, cellos,until the treble of flutes and bells

rise on the foam,and the death rattle of vibes crescendo.Fingers reach

towards running legsretreating to dry land.Those too slow

fall into the music,tumble with seaweedto be spit out on shore,

to spit out salt and laughter.It is there, with sand in her hairthe spell is cast

and she breathes along withthe lung of the world;the bellows of god ,

sighingbreathingscreaming

operatic, in harmony.Never has the watersung just this way,

with these rhythmsand it neverwill again .

She finds a gull feather quilland writes a poemin a secret language

known only to herand the ocean.She scoops up the words

in two fists,lets them fallt hrough her fingers

into the surf,a soft rain.Each grain,

the beginningand endingof a song.