Far-off Cloud

By Peter Halstead

far off cloud in distant breezes
in the rustling flags of night
lift my fragile waking pieces
with the anchors of the light

from dreams impossible to swim
that I need to get across
the squalling furies of the limbs
and the breaching lines of human loss

the fading jewelry of the moon
reverberating on gold leaf
morning’s diamond-pointed dune
crumbling into shelving reef

promise me the ocean grass
the tides of waving spaces
blown from skies of liquid glass
mirrors of our saving graces

the sheeting wash of my own seas
scudding and immense
made all too visible by these
hints of endless consequence

November 23rd