From the river something is stirring
in a Pacific ultrablue,
an edgeless ripple or a water bomb where the sea sinks into violet.
The rower bends over his boat with its talon curve and cargo
of grasses. His slender pole
paints the water
with motion, stirs the currents of harbor ships bent with wind,
faceless as the gust of birds
morphing south in black geometry.
The trees crack the blueness with their lightning trunks.
The roof cracks the earth
with its horns.
A woman kneels on the balcony praying to the vastness
which consumes her.
The sun rises again, and sets.