arles

a field of wheat
blue as an ocean
gathering itself
tsunami-like
on the horizon,
threatens to break
this parched
summer morning,
in a glorious inundation
of cool, blue grain.

adrift on the sea,
washed up on the headlands
like the dead poet
who once heard
the long withdrawing roar
of the sea of faith
down the
naked shingles of the world,
i wait for the sky
to break at last,
to unburden itself
of its blessing,
on the parched,
broken land.
but no blessing falls,
only the song of a blackbird
solitary
in a soughing ash,
and far away,
a figure walking on water
turns back for the shore.

june 2010

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