In Parting

in parting


the flat gray sea
his hands on
its liquid
skin
how
easily
pierced
its surface
(no stone this)
& he goes down
his father on the other side
fields plowed where he has plunged
a fence the wire & his impatience a rod
in his hand: they have prepared to go fishing
the children are running & the women have food
in baskets (who fishes who cooks
who waits who is the sea
how we repeat ourselves flashing signals
across mountains named
as if naming as if yes they are claimed
by names running
running as if to explain what is living
what is dead
whose porous skin connects these skins
of skins the passive emptiness
that binds & unbinds
lets us leap into
another time
where time
is not this
wound of
piercing
& a fish
shines
its
crooked
fin flat thin
weighing a skin
of scales the peeling
back into the blood of
the green hair grass how
it undulates in glassy waters
fingers parting a whispering of veils
& breathing, it flowers:
in parting she sings;

the lips must part to give & receive


Richard Lance Williams

Posted over on More Poetry