from "Flying Point"
Published in Poem Of The Day
The sea calls to witness
some vastness
or that which
is only a declaration
of the limited
and the countable.
And the sun some tourist
wades out each morning
in obligation
to touch
for a few moments
and to forget and drown.
And then later the moon
high as a pill
does its own work
emitting no light but re-guiding
light emitted by another:
six ships in the hour
follow each other
far off
into some great
length of silence.
About this poem
"'Flying Point' is a long poem in progress comprised of many short meditations. The full piece, which arranges and moves through these as seasons, grounds itself in the cadence of the natural world and its ambivalence to human kind. The poem is also perhaps an attempt to dissociate from daily life in the city, where we are constantly asked of, pleaded with and demanded to."
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The Academy of American Poets is a nonprofit, mission-driven organization, whose aim is to make poetry available to a wider audience. Email The Academy at poem-a-day[at]poets.org.
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