Beauty Declared Defunct


The moon pulled its pillars from a lavendar haze
and lined them up like a box of chalk
as we rushed to the sea like worn-out rocks
shaped by water to the contours of a dream.

I picked up a calendar and poked through the days
that I wasted with stuttery bloodless talk
and I gave you the white holes so you could unlock
the new summer's dress by its sun-maddened seams.

I cannot speak it,
but I'll tell you what,
it's there and it's there and it's there.
My rules I have changed,
but your rules remain,
so I'll keep it where it's out of your hair.

Someone papered the beach and wrote 'beach'
and up on the sky he wrote 'red.'
So I said the sun set and we could go to bed,
but you wouldn't let me use a pen in there.

Blue is just everything the sky can teach
and the heat is one letter from my head.
There on the sand, something beautiful said,
no, dead, because it faded in air.

Is that how we want it,
this graceful thing,
twisted and muted with sand?
But nothing will please me
like things that come easy,
like my hand in your hand on my hand.


Donald Zirilli
April 5, 2001