Les Rochers de Belle-Ile [after the painting by Claude Monet]
No beach here—just the sea
swirling in blue
deep blue and green
Both the sea and the rocks
show age
It’s a tired scene of their
coming together
each hour and day
The water’s force, erosion
of all the softest parts
leaving only solid rock
This you could be
crushed upon—the hardest
knowledge of all—
What is impervious to you, quite
solidly indifferent
No escaping how the sea
throws you repeatedly on the rocks
of all you’re stupid about—
self-ignorance, deception, lies—
Instead someone calls this a scene,
a landscape, seascape—
Yes, but first: crags of the mind, and soul.
By the same author
Centers of Gold, Aphrodisiacal & What We Do Lives On
The point, after all, with canvas, brush, and paint,