Great stones of whitewater
hammer down
Onto our unhurried walk in the monument’s shade,
And our cramped bed at the “Vienna Villa”
And the gloomy rooms where no one spoke.
Great stones of whitewater hammer
Onto the statue of a woman made of moon-white wax
And the thatchy backwater island with its haunted stretch
Of hotel corridor. Great stones of whitewater
Smashing what I didn’t ask on the lip of the ancient tomb.
Smashing what you nevertheless couldn’t give.
Smashing the little apple tree growing happily in sand
Like a souvenir painting. Those red drapes, that weepy guitar.
Smashing your hesitation on the shore.
Great stones of whitewater hammering, hammering down—
Eviscerate me.
My soul won’t plant itself in this deep black soil,
Recoils from eternity, like a thief. No,
My soul hangs with all that water, thousands of years’ worth
Roiling away
Up on the edge of that cliff.
September 20, 1985