C. Dale Young
after Jaime Gil de Biedma
All of my life, I could barely remember it. As after a dream,
I stared at the clouds floating above the sea and thought
of rain, and it rained. Later, when I learned the word Desistare
and used it with intent, I found I could stop the rain.
"All of my life." It sounds so odd to say that out loud.
But strange thing after strange thing transpired. Imagine.
The day ends in a flash of color and wonder, and the sea
slowly becomes the night sky. You may or may not
have feelings when this happens. I cannot speak for you.
You are still waiting for the antecedent of the first "it."
I can tell you "it" is not the sea tugging at me the way
the moon inflicts its needs upon the tides. The gods
were lonely. And one of them missed his dead brother
so terribly, he placed part of himself inside a human being.
Even I found this unbelievable until one day I met
someone just as capable of conjuring things the way
I can, who carries inside him the same needy god.
I have already said too much. The sea is crashing now
against the coastline demanding silence. For thousands
of years, I have listened to the sea. I never tire of it.
The sea percusses and sounds. The sea detonates.