WebPoems

Incomplete, uncombed, half thought-out,

This landscape's vague, too much fog

Out at sea, and a suspicious white

In the shallows, like plum wine,

A Chinese classic in color.

The waves, fractal lines, suggest

Soundings by satellite along the ocean floor;

Almost parallel, but jagged,

Mounding up without liquid force.

The white strip, empty of data,

A break in transmission, errors

In reading, or noise on the line.

Only the boat holds its detail,

Carrying wood away from the beach,

And the farmer, who just bought a cord,

And his horse, bucking, refusing the load.

Like email, this print's a throwaway.

He tossed it off, squinting, toying

With wide bands separating us from,

Rather than linking us with,

The emerging logo, Mount Fuji.