Ocean Resort

And now, as of old, the sun-god rules the roost:

The hand on wristwatches burnt off,

The wooden feathers in cuckoo clocks singed,

The grandfather clocks unmanned.

Desires go wandering through this land

Gathering scruples in mossy bouquets;

Though ghost-rays of logic streak the dawns,

Still the gulls cry their syllables obscene.

Vines of arms twine in the mind.

Tears gong secrets. Smiles compel.

Ritual rumples the mattress of sand

Till the tongues of the sea smooth it down.

O dwells a somewhere planet green

Boisterously striking time;

And Johnny coaxing his awkward new limb

Across a campus ground.

Elise Asher

LESS FELINE

In cunning youth I baited all my traps

To catch the silver mice of poetry.

But they were far too sly and quick for me.

They scuttled through my dreams, they nibbled scraps

That careless day had scattered in her wake.

By morning they withdrew for prose's sake.