Karen Weiser, p.7


a departing shape the year turns
counterpoint a name clock a narrative
the sea and my brain give up
an identifying mark every year
slipping into anonymity from forms
recognizable to the self misplaced
scale of person-slash-building-slash-ocean
pressing through the Miss Ellis Island
and the Coast Guard machine guns
navigate a rough slipped surface
drop a plumb line, see corresponding
gravities settle downward
blimp in the sky moves out of sight
juggled by a distant volume