A Love Poem Project part 16

There are new breaks in New England.  Like the soilders
Each has fallen, against one another
Splintering in every way every time
a unique direction
And rubbing tightly past all of it
Fresh from the heavy winds
And the cruel New England storms.
The bow breaks, finds the ground
The ground caves.  Once someone
Put a car too close
And there for all to see, for all the children,
Every New Englander
saw tragedy. What I've seen
Is all I can bear: dead trees.

Product by George Oppen from Selected Poems

There is no beauty in New England like the boats.
Each itself, even the paint white
Dripping to each wave each time
At anchor, mast
And rigging tightly part of it
Fresh from the dry tools
And the dry New England hands.
The bow soars, finds the waves
The hull accepts  Once someone
Put a bowl afloat
And there for all to see, for all the children,
Even the New Englander
Was boatness. What I've seen
Is all I've found: myself.