Carol Frost

Man So Bronzed

Forearms bulging lifting the giant cobia:
Xanthes river flowing from the west horizon:
wind subsiding, disintegrating, coming up::
maker of the gutted glistening fish
and maker of the evening: cold torrent in the eyes,
insolent ease in torso and hips: legendary
you can hear it by the dock and feel the long day’s motion
of the waves: a sort of dreaminess: the islanders
washing phosphorus from boats and gear:
sunset closing the marina. Haephestus murmuring:—
the quality of cobia: steel gone from sinew,
smithy cool: then gone to supper.

Rattler Bites Nightingale Sings

© 2005 Electronic Poetry Review