I Hear the Music of a Donkey
This stone throne
facing the sea was made by a small man
wanting to be a giant
or else he already was and wanted to be
terrestrially ordinary for a moment
so that he could feed the seals
the humpback whales
the blue-eyed penguins
who had returned
for various reasons
to live in the sea
where their children
frolicked in the bodies of dolphins.
Climbing up amongst houses
Grand Canyon Suite
resonates off walls. I hear the music
of a donkey
pulling at his head and sack-cloth ears.
A stream has cut its name into a bank.
peer at weather forecasts. I pass
a concrete bunker collapsing
without a shot being fired.
As I climb closer to the road
I feel a slow intrusiveness. Each
step is like a face I know. Each
obliterates the story of a man
who wanted to be a giant
wrote songs for himself
preferred his own voice
dived into the ground one day
bequeathing a cone of air space
crammed with sound.