Zev Levinson (poem) "Gestures By The Sea" in Literary Potpourri

Our lives are rife with metaphor
yet we cannot see a damn thing.
With our eyes wide open
we bump into walls.

The world is filled with sound,
beautiful sound, the harmony of suns
striking our senses. We do not hear it,
though we are listening. The clutter

and mumblings of our minds
press us against the backdrop of bodies,
we wax diffuse, our secrets showing
like the veins of a moth's wings before its candle.

The secrets are undone, what we know
has become nothing. Though there was nothing ever
to think about, we might remember why we came,
finger the worn rock in the old coat pocket.

Sorrow takes on the voice of wind,
the endless waves echo this old jest
and we find time to have taken
the vision and pocketed it.

Oh, the vision is pure, cannot be befuddled--
it is us tricked into personal madness,
our noses tweaked by our own goals.
We once knew one thing,

something about rocks, how the last colossus
is stricken to sand, how the sand is swept away
by winds and tides. The gesture:
from the mountaintop, reach inside, and cast

your dust into the face of the sun.

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	Poem by Zev Levinson Gestures by the Sea Our lives are rife with metaphor yet we cannot see a damn thing. With our eyes wide open we bump into walls. The world is filled with sound, beautiful sound, the harmony of suns striking our senses. We do not hear it, though we are listening. The clutter and mumblings of our minds press us against the backdrop of bodies, we wax diffuse, our secrets showing like the veins of a moth's wings before its candle. The secrets are undone, what we know has become nothing. Though there was nothing ever to think about, we might remember why we came, finger the worn rock in the old coat pocket. Sorrow takes on the voice of wind, the endless waves echo this old jest and we find time to have taken the vision and pocketed it. Oh, the vision is pure, cannot be befuddled-- it is us tricked into personal madness, our noses tweaked by our own goals. We once knew one thing, something about rocks, how the last colossus is stricken to sand, how the sand is swept away by winds and tides. The gesture: from the mountaintop, reach inside, and cast your dust into the face of the sun. § § § Zev Levinson lives behind the Redwood Curtain in Humboldt County, California. He teaches at Humboldt State University and College of the Redwoods, and to younger students through California Poets in the Schools. You can reach him at zevlevinson@hotmail.com . GO TO NEXT PAGE