Poetry Archives

We were talking
into the night
of the sea
and our beginning there

of Venus rising—
flare white?
and of antiquity,
that common ground we share,

but under glaring
inquisitorial light;
no clarity
to expunge her sea-foamed hair.

Our dumb offering
of the trite,
a desultory
respect, our lack of care.

No longer believing
in any rite
nor the vanity
of reciprocated prayer.

Left grieving
our plight,
its continuity—
the dull fact of being here.