Saturday, April 6, 2013

Inside the Harbor

in death its eyes were still open
neither one of us could get it to speak true

a small boat of ribs afloat in a blue lake that night
like cats fish massaging against its thighs

the next time i met you
i was directing traffic out of a storefront window
dried fish hung around my head like dead angels
that was seven thousand years ago

i saw you standing in front of the glass
and unzipped the door that was yours
you had with yourself the pleasure craft
you wanted to trade for dragon horn and ginseng

i can still see that light in your eyes
i'm still looking for a cord to that lightbulb

all our boats ride mechanically now
all our fish carry red plastic lanterns

from The Troubles (1993)

No comments:

Post a Comment