POETRY by Peter Layton

OCTOBER 2007:

Tree Rings

The once animals
from before before,
stepping in wet tar.
Their eyes rolled back
in the museums of clay
and black bones.

We become them as we
sail the studio back lots
late at night.
Our mothers tucking us in.
Or our wives.
Our daughters.

Did you ever see something so beautiful?
The setting sun through her hair, the
vague coalescing days
in something like amber or
deep cave crystal.

Cast

I can see the harbor from here.
Skeins of lights,
of necklaces, diamondy bracelets.
The water a swallowed hole.

Here, in the ink
of the crossword puzzle buildings,
all the hurt souls.

Spells

You may measure out a sauce.
Thinking subtly while you do this.

And drink some wine.
And flick some leisurely into the pot.

We all cannot be arrested.
For musing as we do.

Tinkering with the great bell.
Of life, of all life.
And death.

Peter Layton is a poet who lives and writes in Lakewood, California.