Daybreak at the straits.(New poems)(Poem)

 
Daybreak at the straits 
 
   1 
 
   The clouds that lie in cinnabar striations 
   are juggled by a nimble waterspout 
   too distant for significance. The dim 
   pink of daybreak binds the sky with dark 
   barely distinguishable from a darker sea. 
   The horizon mortices itself with chinks of rose. 
   What we call day is nothing more 
   than disintegrated darkness at the Straits. 
   Night bickers for asylum still 
   in unlaced shoes, implores the paling windowpanes 
   to be steadfast for dark against the light. 
   I am witness to the spectral provocations 
   daylight introduces to a vista 
   that all night stood 
   islanded by nothing but the stars. 
 
   2 
 
   Tired of the meditations on futility 
   that now retard my nights I walked to see 
   the waters of the Straits in darkness hesitate, 
   recoil and hover, tremble just before they calibrate 
   shocked sandstone, the staved cliff, the pitiable 
   barricades we raise against the terrible 
   erosions waves exact. The wind's a whittler here, 
   pares quartz to thinnest splinters, loves the sheer 
   spare sea-lathed skeletons of objects cast ashore. 
 
   It comforts me at night, a watchman of the stars 
   that only change by reasonable laws, to parse 
   the luminous degradations of ...