iii. Three Consecutive Notebook Entries


a. Skirting the nub,
South Gare,
the furthest edge,
the push of industry
the fight with waves
the thin line between -
where people walk.

The full moon dominates
a lighthouse moon
veined with blue
like a chickenwire veil.

Do we learn too well?
Protect our menstrual calendar
like this,
against a rush of concrete?
Do we finally make security glass
for the Moon's window,
melt the sand for an obsidian
in the night sky,
and let the wire float?