Astronomers say there’s no beginning and no end tonight
where pulsar stars and their red riot of a universe throb
above one lookout point at Newport’s Cliff Walk.
It’s so cold that buds crack and fall to the earth
under our feet as we stand and stare at nothing.
A killdeer shrills--in the dark, phosphor rides
the great breakers lolling in towards shore.
Out beyond a light ship you can almost see
the black plaid patch of sky from which the plane
dipped down, folding its wings like a frigate-bird,
with its two lung-sacs sucking as it plunged
beneath the waves, where surf clams cling to octopi
and shark eggs spurt from casement cartilage
in a tomb-worn kingdom at the bottom of the sea.