Morning Before the Daylong Rain

Beatrice has decided not to eat

her breakfast of canned food

to beg for it only to turn away

to beg for my egg, lick bacon grease

from the tips of my fingers

two pair of kingfisher buzz the dock

one patrols from the furled umbrella

great blue heron is a cargo plane

low over the water just offshore

mallards a raucous flotilla

pelicans dive for mullet

leaping from the salt marsh pond

silver arrows that fall flat

rise again, fall, rise three times

like silver skipping stones

now it's the next morning gray skies

S-shaped, dive, Z-shaped

cormorant glides past the dock

predators here for prey

more rain is on the way

Rescue the Dead

by David Ignatow

Finally, to forgo love is to kiss a leaf,

is to let rain fall nakedly on your head,

is to respect fire,

is to study man's eyes and his gestures

as he talks,

is to set bread upon a table

and a knife discreetly by,

is to pass through crowds

like a crowd of oneself.

Not to love is to live.

To love is to be led away

into a forest where the secret grave

is dug, singing, praising darkness

under the trees.

To live is to sign your name,

is to ignore the dead,

is to carry a wallet

and shake hands.

To love is to be a fish.

My boat wallows in the sea.

You who are free,

rescue the dead.