erbacce-press

Rain Line Looking for the Ocean

(To Wallace Stevens)

I.
Up in the Hartford building
Up in the sky of skies
There were hallways that had
Glass walls, and behind them

Great leather chairs, couches
Two eyes, stacks of policies
The words “Phrases! But of fear
And of fate” scrawled on an

Actuarial table. Up in cigar
Smoke beside a window of brick
There decayed a ham with onion
Sandwich. Not the thing.

II.
Songs were invented before words.
It is easier to sing even if badly
Than to speak with some meaning.

Beautiful fractal patterns making
New every time, there were tribes that
Sang across woods and valleys to commune.

They ultimately mimicked the sounds
Of colors around them, colors manifest
In the sensation of touch and the dead art

Of poetry.

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