THE SHORE
f r a n z   w r i g h t

At dawn a silence breaks. First
light and the surf still sounds faintly
like a woman who has lain awake
methodically tearing her sheets
into strips all night long.
She is finally drifting off now.
On her back, hair and skin damp
with the salt of her body she notices
the smell, a faraway perfume
combined with blood just like the ocean's;
she gazes down the length of her,
black hair's long soaked strands curled
there on the dead white circles of
breasts half submerged, only breaking the water,
white belly shimmering greenly
phosphorescent: below
the tiny curls she runs her fingers through,
letting the hand float away like a sigh
which follows her soft cry --
some hidden bird she knows nothing about.
Finally she can ease her head back
on water, close her eyes and let it suck her
toward the opening sea, as she leaves
the awakening world.

From Ill Lit: Selected & New Poems, © 1998 ~ publisher Oberlin College Press, Ohio

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