Poetry from Jack Galmitz

where out of black
by a small stretch of sand
the moon grasps
the breakers unawares
I feel like I've gone back
to the beginning
when I sat with a pail
and packed it with sand
since then what passed
rolling in the radiant grass
touched by moonlight
and hand and a breast
heaved towards the low tide rocks
by the bridge span
how right Euripides was
in that
I lean on a cane
who wanted to crawl back
to the beginning
and do it again

a man lived here
until his wife died
his children left
and all he had left
were television shows
of comedies and commercials
(he had seen the massive
wings of fascism spread
and briefly landed)
he had worked, had lived
had suffered and grew
old like the rest
and when there wasn't
anyone to talk to
he resolved to go
I saw him leave
without a wave
except he bowed
unto the trees
and the birds

and the rain


the light is what
you're reading
and where it is
not is also there
in its places
at night a stag
moves between
trees silent
as the shadows
the trees have surrendered
the hunter moves down stream

and safe is wanted

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