What makes these stars so violent

In the core of the typhoon,

When the beaches are so silent

Inside our calm lagoon,


In not the rage and rain outside

The balmy center of such grief,

Lulled by time and gentle tide

On the distant summer reef,


Safe for now inside the vortex

Of the boiling, spinning world,

The latent grinning cortex

Waiting to be hurled


At our lazing tropic trees,

Appeased right now by night

And calm, but soon enough diseased

With contemporary blight,


pounding shallows with their breath,

Wrecking ships with sounds,

Dashing dreams too balmy death

On our whirlpool grounds


Or on the white-washed wall:

Moon-lashed clouds rolled up against our

Thrashing lights which weave and squall

Like that distant bobbing star,


The flailing shawl of coral surge,

The rush of water battered down by doubt,

Pushing continents to submerge,

As candles flicker and go out -


Moon blown, bone worn,

As solitary as the deep;

Lovelorn, wave-torn,

Bow against the sweep,


Beachball, landfall, Sun against the sea,

Seawall, dayfall,

Redeem, enthrall me


Here in the middle of the storm,

Where holes their obverse inverse converse polar hopes appoint

As summer keeps us briefly warm,

And/As sea surrounds its distant point.