After the long nervousness
when the taut strings let go
and the sinews find
their old slackness
and the whole body
gathers up its shards
and heads for home,
takes the slow route
between the maples
on the boulevard
to the sea-worn house,
sits on the porch
in the rocker, poiseless—
the water making and unmaking
white curls—relaxing, unflexed,
while the wind blows,
mending and unmending
branches. Everything, finally,
even the rocks, disassembles.