Jones Beach State Park
The grey wooden walkway floats damply over the grasping fingers of salt water:
Its pilings silent, clogged with must and clamped heavily with marine life.
The music is questionable: the question is immaterial
Over the roar of the sea: there is only the occasional gull.
What aren’t they thinking, sitting alone or in twos and threes?
Each one contains one bird-brain, and two hollow-boned wings.
Without any guidepost I would pace down the pier
Dividing up all the debris: some flotsam and some jetsam.
This uneasy and tired night, settled firmly over the sea-side landscape
A space reaching to be filled, like interlocking parts of a whole portrait.
Some darkness is like a winter, thin and full of wires
And the lights reflect on the surfaces of the water, moving back and forth.
Three flags wildly flapping and clapping loudly in the midnight breeze:
I am casually rolling home wearing a garland of garbage and leaves
The pavement along side the pier, cracked and holding back
The earth’s final cataclysmic stretch outwards towards the stars.
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