I took a green bouquet in my left hand
to the ocean. Ocean flowers,
green roses for your green eyes, Mother.
Take my imperfect love bundle, Mother
who rocked in arms, as I slept,
whose body vessel brought me this shore.
Carry me on nothing to fear,
take this me-dream green destiny of forget
into your bosom’s roses, ghost,
sky flame, ship minuscule on the horizon
of boarded glass.
Where ocean and years hover,
plums drop from branches,
near a window a white cloth’s gold crumbs
leave no trace
at all. Your hands’ oblivion knuckles clouds.
The sea’s drowning hand waves far out.
I think it time, retaliation, the eyes in a face
of sand, the answer that is and is not.
I fling feebly to your vast
wave crested nothing, ashes. Kisses
of milk-box near steps
cloud the curved bottle’s message:
the all of a corner’s broom, April showers.
Roses of the sea lie on the ocean floor.
Apples fall from eternity’s green branches.
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