George Moore
In My Hearing the Sea
Back when I drank to escape the constant buzz I fell down basement stairs to avoid what was above me and fractured the inner ear somewhere an echo chamber of fine high-pitched whining like ringing a bone And I have carried that singing with me to this day to the end I imagine now that time appears to have an edge Can’t image the world without this high tinkling in the atmosphere the music of the spheres or angels singing who knows But it doesn’t matter I’ve grown use to it The sea rings this way now the waves the air above them rings with the sweeping majesty of grand miles of nothing bellying the clouds and the atmosphere resting above The sea crashing always at a distance filling a room in my head now and I carry with me the world’s fine edges the liminal space between earth and sea carry with me the terrestrial evolution of continents On quiet mornings such as this the ringing becomes clear the chimes of a past life following me about the house down to the seaside up again and back into the kitchen for coffee and the world remains a song in my brain sizzling and physical a distant ringing in the middle of my skull like the signature of sound itself keeping me awake to the world keeping me in the world and all of it sings the ocean and its music and the voice of the sea washes my mind clean |
George Moore’s poetry appears in The Atlantic, Poetry, North American Review, Colorado Review and Stand. His recent collections include Children’s Drawings of the Universe (Salmon Poetry 2015) and Saint Agnes Outside the Walls (FutureCycle 2016). A finalist for The National Poetry Series and nine Pushcart Prizes, Moore taught literature and writing at the University of Colorado, Boulder, and now lives in Nova Scotia.