Facing The Foam

Facing The Foam

Splashed my face this morning
thought I’d shave the shadow of the night
but the dreams of foam can overwhelm
’cause you swirled away, they say, into the storm lost,
and you were never found, at least
not a sound I ever heard when I cried and searched, and
they declared you dead

Oh God, what bell could they have to do that. No
no, no. I know I heard you
somewhere when they declared the
impossibility to live in a churning foam with
omens to be heeded they said, officially by storm

Yet I was there too, and I am alive in a close shave
to be on the minor list
scrambled together for the unimportant
who were poor before and worse to compile
for the tragedies of charities funded with the
capriciousness of the times, trophies for the compassionate
burdens for the realists looking down from the satellites

Oh God, what bell could they have to do that. No
no, no. I know I heard you

There is a foam on the beard
and a foam on sad ferment of beer, and

so lucky am I to be a non-believer, ’cause
today I sat by the river for no reason giggling
and you tickled me as real as the foam of the universe.
Yikes, you pinched me. It is you, it is you, it is you…

You have a story, but I don’t care for now.
Only hug me, only kiss me, because we
are on the major list of lovers in the foam.

When I tickle you, I know you are real, and
my giggles turn into sobbing screams because
I have missed being real.

— Douglas Gilbert