On a bleak beach on the far side
of the leaden Atlantic
an ungainly contraption
assembled from canvas and metal struts
hops like a huge scrawny crow,
takes a desperate run
towards lowering clouds,
clumsily lifts off the ground,
plops back onto heavy wet sand,
runs, rises, dips, soars, and flies
a short length of the beach
to thin cheers from tiny black figures.
Against the swell of the decades
I want to swim that ocean
and heave great boulders
into the blind creature’s path.
Let it crash. Let their dream founder.
Maybe then you’d still be with me.