At the Edge of the World

for Friedrich Gajsek

the night hangs above me
and the water is calm

        it is winter
        on this continent

and I am here
in the place you have cleared
for me

        a silt beach and a small cove
and a light
marking the haze
that trims the horizon I know the nature of that fog's glow

        I cannot account
for geographic source

*

I know you are gone
finally from here
yet not in final form

        having studied your transfiguration
minutely

        incapable, yet,
of describing its minutiae

I remain
a romantic disciple

still living
to take into account
the difficult nature
of all this
that is so difficult to write
*

        I want to write   for you
the technically splendid truth
and the extraordinary heart
of a simple story

        to spite bloody consequence
and to pay homage to you

the one who taught me first
the enabling value of apprenticeship
so that I could choose to produce
the honest measure of my own worth

*

but for the moment
I remain
still
in the still night

        the next line
about to be written

here in this open place
bountiful and unprescribed   remember the dreams
        we so often described
so that we might hold common
a heart and mind and sense

and so be joined
momentarily
by that narcotic blend

*

you are the father
who leaves me
my father
and I must overcome
the dreams of foolish sons

so that when I awake
I won't be hanging from a string
I will remember everything
before I know
that I was born to grow old

*

now, I am
in a form
alone

        as you said I would be
and I miss you
and I wish we could share
just one more simple pastime

so that I could see once more
your fine figure cut
from the disciplining effect
of a true and lasting love

a technician
moving through the world
a proud subject
to the denominations of that labour's wage
        the hard currency of the critical page

*

the night pauses above me
and the water delays its steady breaking   and tinkling of shore ice

        it remains the dead of winter
and I am here
studying the glowing fog
on the southeastern horizon and I see no sign
and I say your name

and I slowly lift my gaze to study the constellations
and I ask you if you are there

        and I cannot account
for what I do and do not see

I simply turn to the north and scan the sand
the shrub
the lights of houses beyond the trees

and say your name and the air beats anew
and causes me to hold
the breath of you
aloft
and escaping
so it might return
to its inspiration

        and I am maddened by the strands of prophecy
my thoughts radiated by the fission of memory

        and I say your name
and study the constellations

and ask if you are that new star
that shines
presently

*

the night hangs
and the water is calm

        it is winter
        on this continent

and I am here
considering the shore
upon which I now stand

gazing skyward and searching

        for that new light
that marks the place
that has been cleared
for you

March 11 1992