The Edward F. Albee Artist Residency – Montauk, 2007
On a shingle beach at land’s end, the water actually sings
going over the pebbled shore.
Have you ever been fortunate enough to hear its music like that?
Though we dare give it a name we have no authority over it.
Like the baubles that flash their authenticity make up some
syllables of a language that provides the meaning for a whole grammar
laid open only to daylight. And deepens the story of the silence
that dwells in shadow and darkness.
Absolute proof of existence, despite the question of advancing
or receding tides, as seen from my limited point of view.
But inert cobbles, sand, shells, carapaces and fragments—
worthless shattered discards shaped and polished to new perfections.
Part memory but already becoming, in the serious way I really wish
I could retain something of my youth across space and time,
and hold the untouched light of what a star is made of
in my cupped hands, and give it to you shining life for all eternity.
Garden City Park