TROUT   [5]

Louis Armand: [1 , 2 , 3]

  there is no shore that gathers.
i without ceasing come
from is to will be. i do not
dwell in the hollow of that tide.
i do not pass there

below dusk’s straitening eye.
sea-wrecked lips form
broken hemispheres. unexplained.
the wind undresses the waves
caught in white virtuality

there is no shore. dark hands
clutch at the tongue.
the stone depth neither speaks
nor denies you. the stone.
the word alone declares itself

in fragmentary arrest suspended.
everything has been left unfinished.
everything. time like ropes of sand
knotted & loose. knotted. slipping
from hooks of air

there is no shore that receives
you. i without. ceasing.
there is no shore. in the hollow of 
that tide. in the hollow. there is
no shore that receives you

  © 1998