Dustin Hellberg
Walking Back From A Nude Beach In Italy
New Poems From the USA
 
 
No crude bid, I hope, to ponder the answer
to the merest question formed when, squat,
you pissed in the train tunnel, no chance for
privacy as I snapped the joking photo. And what

then of the bitumen tide that beats boulders
into rhetorical granules, deep in sea pockets,
or the near-invisible hunch of your shoulders
when tired and pressed you paused in that socket

of dark stone which suddenly, coldly flashed
with surprising fury, like a phoenix or anvil
blasting sparks… No, simply two people cached
and alone in one moment’s glimmer, though still

below the mountain’s lazarine starkness,
while around us wheeled in startled flight
an ancient machinery of light and darkness,
and another of darkness and light.