Dan Beachy-Quick

“Antique Foundation

Here I built the ruin in
My voice on either side of me
In the temple the ocean could
Not be a crowd I mined
The shore with fog the sun dries
These bricks I built the vision in
The cinder block that is the city
Wall this grave
Tone I speak with a picture
Of myself in my wallet


•


Don’t be fooled by grass and these words
Grass whispers
Because they are real they are
Ruinous Here, the gossip is in the dust
Not the sea cloud enters the open
Child’s window dimming the silver
Flute’s sheen Where is he
Who hears inside the brick those notes?
There is a rumor in the city we’ll exist
If he plays his song no one knows


•


Follow that shadow don’t tell me it’s mine
Here there is no being alone
Here are my hands which tore the leaves so
Quietly in the temple the god
Emerging from marble points at the chisel
At the base of his stone Did I tell you
Where I’m going? To the old man
Who sings the margin
Where on wave-tip swords turn edge over edge
Wound us and the shore with foam


•


My face on either side of my face I tore
My picture in half to show the gate
You must climb inside your breath to leave
As fog the wind will bear you—
If you’re lovely—away In the spare clouds
The children’s chorus Do you hear?—
Where were you, and where are you going?
Here I built the ruin in the stone-crushed
Sage leaves my hands scented as long ago
When I liked to press the desert against my head to think”
― Dan Beachy-Quick