fomented seas below him thrash the heathen rocks
into a million-year submission and he is suddenly
ambushed at the edge of the world. tempted to peer down
just once he then restores his focus and altogether his soul is
thrust outward toward that line between black and turquoise,
the one that splits the Mother from her infatuate, the Moon.
hymns of the sea birds overspread the ear, as a whiffet of air - matron
of dreams - makes them dance on a line, while
escorting the man's own desires, loves, fears out to a far-gone place he
can barely see, then towing them back;
retreating and advancing on the ticks of some sort of cruel
metronome, time and love both a wistful tide
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