Sunday, March 23, 2014

And sometimes, a picture's just a picture

    .. seeing nothing
    yet mapping a lane in the brine
      where Oedipus or Lear
    might walk as though they saw:


    For: nothing has been created.
      Nothing. Nothing. All is yet to come.
    The cloud that whirls in the Lighthouse's 
      vector confirms
    the superstitious dream of Adam and the
      geography of danger,
    the staggering keel in the shipwreck,
      the gull's wing bloodying glass.
    The ocean spins emptily. The Lighthouse
      counts three hundred
      and sixty degrees; and the salt
    comedy of unknowing begins.

Ben Belitt
The Double Witness
  Poems: 1970-1976
  Southeast Lighthouse
Princeton University Press, 1977©

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