THE VERY EYE OF SUMMER

A Poem of Praise in 100 lines

1.

Summer Radio

Without knowing it
We were praising the season of freedom
Its sea-broad horizon, now foggy now sharp
A beach. Salt air and salt water
A swimming pool. Chlorine haze
The glare and the burn of a giving sun
And how all of it—the season, that is—how all of it stings
Praising the summer by casually remembering
And lightly locking in
The exquisite sting of it
Please don’t
Please don’t
Please don’t let it end
Was our useless repetitive song
But looking on the bright side, the gin&tonics seemed colder, feet were bare to absorb the ambient radiant luxuriant heat of sidewalks, fireworks or stars winked and blinked and blazed overhead for what felt like forever
And of course it was free while it lasted
Free until it faded
Paling. Passing into invisibility
Like our summer tans

2.

Slaughter Moon Song

Rest assured we will not sink
Oh yes, it is a time for it
Strong and weak are much the same
Dead and alive share the ground that is left Or do sink and be down there

Embrace the cosmic glow of rot and rest
Freezing cold today. What about tomorrow?
I am your guide and voice. Be still and hear, share space and rest Breathe
Time races. One hundred years for one breath
Where are we now?
Below and inside
What do we do?
Nothing that can be seen
Hold the years inside until time ends
Hold for years or seconds. Dirt will press

Hold eons deep inside until time ends
And starts again and starts again. Time bends

3.

This is What We Did

You are terrifying now.
You are a challenge to the imagination. You lack breathing room.
You lack storage space.
You are space.
You reveal the temporariness of it all. Your summers swelter.
Your winters benumb.
Your springs and falls drench and dry.

4.

Hymn for the New Year

In attempting to win the favor
Of God or the gods
Of ancestors
Or spirits of ancient woods, analogue deserts, digital cities We’re going to need

Ritual
Sacrifice
Action beyond mere belief
A hymn for good measure
To breathe out sounds that say
Look
Train your eye upon us, look favorably upon us
If our hymn pleases, please look after and protect us
Do we suffer less than Thebes with their blighted crops, their stillborn calves and children, and their population brought low by a plague?
If our procession is small and not very noisy
Well, sometimes that’s how it is
One human singing to the sun and sky
To mountains green woods a flashing stream
Or appealing to a city moon and city skyscrapers and the flow of city traffic
With a hymn made of and by the sounds of night
The chatter of unseen people
A truck rumbling by
A siren
And gusts of cold wind
As for our tactics
Our tools of persuasion
We murmur a thanks to the Muses
We thank them and you for coming
A “thank you in advance” kind of thing
If we thank you for coming, you’ll come

Right?
As we know you well, we know you love music
And wine
And the bracing aroma of smoke
So, as we stand outside a bar in the East Village
And listen to the music coming from inside
And drink wine, splashing some drops onto the ground for you
And smoke cigarettes, blowing warmed smoke into the cool air for you
Know that the laughter and the stories and the shivers of warm-blooded humans standing on a sidewalk in the cold city night are songs of praise
For you

5.

Leap

Is it greedy to desire extra days? Or not?
Either way
At the end of February, the Month of Mud
At the mouth of March, the old Wild Month
When the purple whisper of one crocus kills the pouting silence of winter and the very eye of summer glows red-hot in the middle-distance

an extra day is breath Please don’t
Please don’t
Please don’t let it end