The Innisfree Poetry Journal

www.innisfreepoetry.org

by Davide Trame

LASTING

Big barge, full of sand to the brim,
now it leaves in the sunlight
from the new causeway they are building,
from the loud scattering of stones on stones.
It leaves, it’s time, it’s noon,
the spacing stillness of midday arrives,
and the bright silent breeze,
the sweeping breath of the sea only.

But the barge is heavy and slow,
it can’t be in a hurry.
And you like its way of leaving after all,
maybe it’s not leaving at all.
It looks almost still, it’s what
you would like to be,
a gaze standing, never ending
like the sound of its engine drone,

what you know of silence:
while a white-rimmed wake widens
behind the stern
the air’s sunlit throat hums
holding its breath effortlessly
and the horizon is always far off.

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