Full Fathom Five
Old man,
you surface seldom.
Then you come in with the tide's coming
When seas
wash cold, foam-
Capped:
white hair, white beard, far-flung,
A dragnet,
rising, falling, as waves
Crest and trough. Miles long
Extend the
radial sheaves
Of your
spread hair, in which wrinkling skeins
Knotted,
caught, survives
The old
myth of orgins
Unimaginable. You float near
As kneeled
ice-mountains
Of the
north, to be steered clear
Of, not fathomed. All obscurity
Starts with
a danger:
Your dangers
are many. I
Cannot look
much but your form suffers
Some
strange injury
And seems
to die: so vapors
Ravel to
clearness on the dawn sea.
The muddy
rumors
Of your
burial move me
To
half-believe: your reappearance
Proves
rumors shallow,
For the archaic
trenched lines
Of your
grained face shed time in runnels:
Ages beat
like rains
On the
unbeaten channels
Of the ocean. Such sage humor and
Durance are
whirlpools
To make
away with the ground-
Work of the
earth and the sky's ridgepole.
Waist down,
you may wind
One
labyrinthine tangle
To root
deep among knuckles, shinbones,
Skulls.
Inscrutable,
Below
shoulders not once
Seen by any
man who kept his head,
You defy
questions;
You defy
godhood.
I walk dry
on your kingdom's border
Exiled to no good.
Your
shelled bed I remember.
Father,
this thick air is murderous.
I would
breathe water.