i signal your absence with beam red words circling the leaves that hang near your head and move through leaning forward and whispering directions. to the sea border you keep, while i, drowning, explain to water how the afternoon lingers. all around me, the bats dart as stars, the blue netting covers my eyes, and the waves surge along a line and then pull back again. through it, i talk to hear what someone thinks.
i felt for you in me for stillness and found a voice speaking numbers and words past the long expanse offering no requite from confusion, just remote forms of our dance in others’ feet and knew we must work, worlds apart, gradually to learn our own constellations.
the port bell sounds and resounds just beyond where we would stop, but we say, it’s morning, the rain is coming slowly, and we are, at last, vagrants searching the sidewalks of the city for stillness, though we have no plans to take the usual soundings when the passage narrows. across the expanse, we are speaking to old anchors thrown overboard, to boats heading to no arrival, but with no moors our answers float on water randomly turning.
-- William Allegrezza edits the e-zine Moria. He has published five books, In the Weaver’s Valley, Ladders in July, Fragile Replacements, Collective Instant, and Covering Over; two anthologies, The City Visible: Chicago Poetry for the New Century and La Alteración del Silencio: Poesía Norteamericana Reciente; nine chapbooks, including Sonoluminescence (co-written with Simone Muench) and Filament Sense (Ypolita Press); and many poetry reviews, articles, and poems. He has books forthcoming with Salt, the University of New Orleans Press, and Furniture Press. In addition, he occasionally posts his thoughts at http://allegrezza.blogspot.com.