Home >> Volume 4, Issue 01

The End of Dreaming the End1

Lawrence Hetrick

Nude, moon-pale and -round,
You stood by the old fort,
Its fog-bound brick arcade
Lapsing into sedge.

A brick poked with a straw
Poured out rusty sand.
Upstairs, your hippie crew
Moonbathed on the ledge.

Your naked pain was art,
Bought dear and not concealed.
Were you about to speak,
Revise another pledge?

I didn’t have a clue
To tempering my heart.
Light before dawn revealed
The gray Atlantic’s edge.

1This poem appeared in an earlier version in Lawrence Hetrick’s recent book of poetry,  Derelict Tributaries, Anhinga Press.