Shore House in Mantoloking

Via Montale

You don’t remember the house on the boardwalk
with the sharp brow above the dunes
and doors swallowing wind,
your swarm of thoughts stopped
restless in the sandy foyer.

The East flecks the outer walls
and the slats your laugh has sunk into
make a creaking walk, loud with dice
and giving like a snake's ribs.
A thread ravels out, you don't
remember, another time stunts your memory.

I hold a still end; but the house
is on the move, its weathervane
turns without pity, black with smoke.
I hold an end, think you're breathing in the dark

Now on the horizon a fugue of rare light
 from shore pooling oily on the water.
Is here the way?
You don't remember the house
in my night. I don’t know who goes, who rests.