East

At the ragged edge of a spasming
ocean, day’s egress to brittle dark’s
entrance seems sublime;
between the clap of sandstone hands
and Atlantic belly
a colossal upward rush of air
gives fire to a myriad stars,
and you among them slung low to the earth,
touching beech and oak and newsprint
till everything flickers flecked red and orange,
reflecting in the deep nothing
of your retinas.