The Moon at Harmon’s Harbor, Maine,
(c)2013 John Meisel, Georgetown, Maine
Dedicated to C. Chafe and family.
Rolling rock before rolling rocks
Beer precedes bedrock
Sockets and pockets on this beached body
Bleached so tediously
Recline on the conch couch
To admire non-specific skies, the playground for a charismatic one
O pale and gentle, you of the water and air
As seagulls flock together, so does the dancer gyrate gyrate
Rocking her hips insistently, irresistibly drawn to you
And I, born of fire, push back a matted mane
To gaze at you, also
Then look to your partner as she dips in your arms
So milky white and almost transparent
My eyes, my cheeks burn suddenly
And I hurl insult after indignation splashing innocently,
swallowed up and drowned in that watery waltz
An insistent constancy fertilizes my furrowed brow
Seeds awaken to this mysterious scene
Puzzled and lost, then reassured by
A voice that I realize has been laughing for sometime now
Not menacingly, but teasing kindly
“This dance is not for you to watch, but to dance”
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