And the ship kept going…
To Hart Crane
The goblet, half-emptied with wine and salty wind, was left on the rail by a lifesaver,
marking where you fell over like a sword, and the ship kept going…
You waved a stop hand to the monolithic white building, gone and determined
as an irretrievable wreck, but the roles you’d stopped acting are still onstage,
your haunting lines sparkling a repertoire of players;
Now in a tipsy-topsy penthouse on a distant sea bed, you dance
with your grandma and all the women acquaintances,
to the gentle blue sound against the small sky roof that wakes no human voices.
June 18, 2009
Note: I am reminded by George's posting in his blog and write this poem. Crane has been one of my favorite poets.