Poetry

Edward Mayes

WATER CLOCK (CLEPSYDRA)

An indiscernible click when the calla unfurls
Itself, its immersion in the marsh lost to all
Of us, a dead language, thrown an uninflated
Life vest, and a vase of water leaving its watermark
On the chest once free of them, unvarnished truths,
As if—

in someone’s lost shoe a nest some sparrows left
Last year, bereft of messiness, as I am bedeviled
By the search for a water glass, last seen so clearly
In the beveled mirror in the hallway, what time do you
Have, is that what it’s telling me, that it once swirled,
That it found its level, its constant, and it’s not that
I haven’t ever been a bearer of water, spilling out time,
The dials and hands and motors stopped at an
Unembraceable moment, distant and here and now.

 

M IS FOR THE WATER SEEN IN THE WAVES

I always thought it was hollow,
The water in the round glass I

Kept on the bedside table, it tasted
Hollow and the halo it made on

The intaglio when the sunlight came
In through an anonymous window,

And afterwards when I blamed
The cats for killing the bird that had

Died after flying into that window’s
Glass, since what might be open isn’t always

Open and might not be open or ever be
Open even when it looks open and

When it’s not closed, it’s not open and
Which is it again that I’ve never

Dreamed about in the water, miniature
Golf, obstacle courses, drag racing, gas

Stations, toboggans, shenanigans,
The Danse Macabre on prom night, snakes

Exclamation point, when I heard
Someone say he was thrown in the drink,

Was he drenched, did he drown, or will
He have been drowning, where does

The wave end and the water of the wave
Begin, how can we shout with a mouth

Full of water, the what, the how, the hissing,
Was it the pebbles on the shore or was

It the water hissing as it left, sister to
The water in the round glass, all water is one.

 

EVIDENCE WRITTEN IN WATER ON LAUNDRY DAYS

We’re not at all certain where to send our vast
Collection of paper collars and paper cuffs, especially

Valuable the cuffs with writing on them, for example,
The cuff with the lyrics of the song in Modern Times

That inadvertently flies off Charlie Chaplin’s wrist—
We have that and although there’s no proof it is

Paulette Goddard’s handwriting, it has value
Notwithstanding, especially in contrast to the machine

Culture of today, the flip-the-switch mentality, the brain
Drain, the truss this and bundle that, and in keeping

With a vote against modernity, we have a collection
Of the vedutisti, some of them assuredly knockoffs, while

Others approaching authenticity as much as possible,
Il Canaletto’s nephew’s (Bernardo Bellotto) paintings

Of Warsaw, used to rebuild that city after 99.9%
Of it was razed by raging Nazis, and the Etchings

Of Imaginary Prisons by Giovanni Battista Piranesi
That Thomas Carlyle was so taken with, and although

Not in our possession at the moment, could with some
Arm-twisting be acquired, and even though our

Procedures are murky, they are legal, and while someone
Like Paolo Veronese is off limits and out of our

Purview (at this time), lesser known but just as
Talented painters have suddenly and without their

Complicity appeared in our archives, but we must add
That when you have read this, if you have received this,

Commit to memory, and please dispose of in a thoughtful and
Environmentally friendly manner, for which we thank all of you.