TROUT   [5]

Louis Armand: [1 , 2 , 3]

  wreckage--driftwood--on a ridge of water
trailing from a distant past--hope &
forbearance--listening to the sea birds
fighting over tidal scraps--the dull wave--
motion casting shadows
further & further out--resembling
the usual numbness day brings.
in the evening you read books about history
(european) & afterwards
the suicides of massada--darkness
no longer calms the nerves  insomnia erodes--
each hour--shored against an ocean
of ruins (nausea, peristalsis).  the body
like a shell echoes with each
barren thudding of the wind--the wind
from distant longitudes from the other side
of the world--patagonia
perhaps?  or tierra del fuego? 
along the beach
there are children collecting pieces of
fossils almost of prehistoric memory.  grey 
pebbles too beneath a veil of seaweed & 
pale sand flecked with ash. some call this
easter--where no christ
was ever cast up from the dead ...
distance echoes with superstition: out there
the southern cross gradually fades in the sky
above a pyre of brittle driftwood.  dawn--
& rain-clouds extinguish the sun--
shroud vision.  in a moment it will be winter
  © 1998