Pier

for Mike Murray

I can’t understand the sound barrier.

Ray and I are required to be miles out to sea,

but we don’t have a boat.

It was just mind roar when you were falling.

I have the harpsichord king’s song

déjà vu feeling now. On the pier you can regard us

as one song sung to your body—an angel with four

thousand wings helped, parted you

like a crowd, like the crown of your red

hair.  I needed a sound truck with amps.

After Ray poured you into the air, your bones

made a bright cloud over the ocean, then sank,

and you were a river for a while.

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Kelle Groom’s four poetry collections include Spill, Five Kingdoms, Luckily (Anhinga Press), and Underwater City (University Press of Florida). Her memoir, I Wore the Ocean in the Shape of a Girl (Simon & Schuster), is a B&N Discover pick and NYTBR Editor's Choice. Her work has appeared in American Poetry Review, Best American Poetry, The New Yorker, New York Times, Ploughshares, and Poetry. She teaches in the MFA Program at Sierra Nevada College, Lake Tahoe.