The Sea and No Promises (Rv. 1)

[Thunderembargo]

The Sea and No Promises

We wind our way through beach towels
and sun-baked bodies
like a vibrant quilt strewn over blinding                  this can be extended:   like a vibrant quilt of stone
white stretches for miles                                                                         strewn over blinding night stretches
                                                                                                                          for miles.................and unending boulevards
In short skirts and sunglasses, finer ladies
trot the boardwalk, not dressed for swim,                perhaps.         too abstract 
not interested in messy sand,                                develop this;  not interested in messy sand or the glass-filled hand
just to be further spoiled by the view -                                           (as you always do

the green-apple sea.                                             this is luscious and full of sap:   the green-apple sea, apple-cider for me
You follow me until
our feet begin to sink in the wet;
the sun hot on our backs
we both dive in.                                                   an indulgent reverse of Camus and his estrangement

From a floating laughter we behold                       this line is absolutely stunning
our preoccupied audience,
so colorful and widely spread,
and the climbs beyond -
the great white mountains in the blue.

My eyes return to you,
gently kicking when your toes can't                       I always resist this sort of sordidness
reach the bottom.

You're hard-working,
from a little stucco home beyond the dunes,              
always salt in your clothes, hair, and skin,
and your father mends his nets outside;                 redemptive lines here and there and beyond

the distance a boat can take a man
is the reason for whatever is absent
when you smile,                                                   a passive forward reminiscence for the old man becoming young,..........once again

the storms that blow for days and weeks,
the loneliness of an empty home,
his flowers framed in misted window panes
with no promises.                                                Fucking brilliant and exact and brilliantly final

---

This isn't deep enough. It doesn't reach into her story far enough to be touching. There are some weak lines. I will have to meditate on the background further and pull stronger images into the ending lines.