Ofernyc’s Weblog

Montauk I

The green of the ocean is jolly-gray today
and seagulls float on its waves like surfers
waiting for some thing to happen.

It’s been drizzling since morning, since it was still dark,
and the sky is a vast cloud sitting on the beach,
a leviathan watching the surfers, now turned into seagulls.

It is January and the water must still be tepid.
The beach resorts are sealed for the season,
nailed shut with huge wooden plates
like an abandoned house, ravaged by fire.

The sand is abounding with stones, no shells
or crabs to be found. The only living thing
is the scum, sliding back into the ocean
that has cleansed itself from it.

This resembles the dance of memory in the thinking cap—
that which the mind expels
seeps back in, refuses to leave
and remains floating like shipwreck.
Waiting for a storm, a scent
or a sound, to bring it back to life.