Full Fathom

& sea swell, hiss of incomprehensible flat: distance: blue long-fingered ocean and its 
  nothing else: nothing in the above visible except 
  water: water and 
always the white self-destroying bloom of wavebreak &, upclose 
  roil, & 
  here, on what’s left of land, 
ticking of stays against empty flagpoles, low tide, free day, nothing 
  being 
  memorialized here today — memories float, yes, 
over the place but not memories any of us now among the living 
  possess — open your 
hands — let go the scrap metal with the laughter — let go the 
  upstairs neighbor you did not 
  protect — they took him 
  away — let go how frightened you knew he was all 
along while you went on with your 
  day — your day overflowing with time and 
place — they came and got him — there are manners for every kind of 
  event — he stopped reading and looked up 
  when they came in — didn’t anyone tell you 
you would never feel at home — that there is a form of slavery in everything — and when was it 
  in your admittedly short 
  life you 
were permitted to believe that this lasted 
  forever — remove your hands 
from your pockets — take out that laundry list, that receipt for 
  everything you 
  pawned last night — decide whom to blame — 
  stick to your 
story — exclude expectation of heavenly 
  reward — exclude 
  the milk of 
human kindness — poisoned from the start — yes — who ever expected that 
to be the mistake — with all the murderers and miracle workers — with the hovering 
  spidery 
  fairy tales — kites, angels, missiles, evening 
papers, yellow stars — clouds — those were houses that are his eyes — those were lives that 
  are his 
eyes — those are families, those are privacies, those are details — those are reparation 
  agreements, summary 
  judgments, those are multiplications 
on the face of the earth that are — those are the forests, the coal seams, the 
  carbon sinks that are his — 
  as they turn into carbon sources — his —
and the festering wounds that are — and the granary that burned — and the quick blow 
  administered to make it 
  painless, so- 
  called — his eyes his yes his blows his seed’s first 
  insertion into this our only soil — 
  & the flower, the cut 
  flower in my 
  bouquet here, 
made from the walk we took this morning, aimless, as if free, 
  where you asked me to 
  marry you, & the loaf of 
barley, millet and wheat I was able, 
  as a matter of course, to bring to the table, fresh- 
  baked, 
  in life.