Sunday, November 26, 2023

Every Fresh Last

Lightly lapping water,
Hawk scream, a water bird’s
Call following at length,

And all lost in a wind
That ruffles up the hill
And then dies away back

To waves. To take apart
The terms of memories,
Terms and their memories,

And then realign them
Carefully, Ashbery’s
Way, so the lines balance

On the phrases, stepping
Stones to lead you away
From one sensible shore

To another, without
Ever quite falling in
To mnemonic meaning—

No, that way lie paintings
And conversational
Asides, while here the sun

Is mentioned only since
There was one once, so there
Must be more than one now.

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