On an Island
my wife turned on the radio for the news of home.
she heard that near us a plane had crashed into the
me after dinner she couldn’t face the flight home:
would I tell the children as we go down?”
her of course, said the odds were against it;
love with a desperate undercurrent, and fell asleep.
awoke in the dark, and her fears appeared real.
were tilted balck, my sunburn hurt, I was thirsty.
ocean was yet enormous in its noise;
pursued me into each of the rooms.
were asleep, each small mouth darkly open;
radio said that a couple with a ten-year-old child
in the water, their bodies still clutching him.”
pale as a moth, chasmed the front room with
white on the water, white on the sliding,
from island to island-
inanimate, bottomless, prayer-denying,
of matter cast off by the sun, blind sun
suns, massed liquid of atoms that conceives
that communes with itself only,
and mighty; our planes, our islands sink:
moon plates the sealed spot where they were.