poetry
gulf stream
a poem by jacob berg
and sure as the air blow by,
some easy world above his head,
the dance continued
free and lightly. barked
and burnt the eye. no
static but for every beat. no
thought loud enough to
wake the devils in the ground.
another morning he
sweep leaves from the sidewalk,
grass trailing envious along the road,
out back a fig tree
peeling sugar from the stars
sat pretty for pretty months.
another morning he
travels swell and lonely,
laughing long the train departs,
glancing beat the dewdrops freeze
like rays of the sun to pray the day,
cyclone winds to set the light and
swallow dark and settle.
truancy the only crime remaining,
full and foul, gas and grey,
the poet’s naked hand with
graphite smudged and
filling caverns once called life
the depths of stone soil or
the fuller hand, the upright,
meek and meagre tides to
draw one way…
