The Men Standing In Beaufort, South Carolina

Everyone gathers because the
Rain has let up and Things are Steady,
For this moment at least:
As is Stands,
The men: their faces glistening
In the heat and
Without the air pressure,
The Knowing that for Land to be Land
Men must have died,

And do.

Before cold
And water, while handling the
Time-of-Things, the men

In standing
Between the rain that was Georgia
And Florida, all that expanse
Being North Carolina,


The men stand allowing pain
To be but pain, and the only
Ounce of compensation: the men laugh
And relate to the
Winning of wars or past or
Everything that makes them
The same.

Truth is this yellowed time
About wavering heat and
State Lines
Men, the tailgates of dusty pick-up
Trucks that carry
Traces of Tennessee, Kentucky,

Men died there too.

Land is Land and the past becomes
Past as here:
There are no Birds-of-Prey.
Men are men. They stand and
By standing they are still men.
They had been, because Time
Allows and underneath,
The rain falls by in Georgia one man laughs

He laughs