The sea is heaving witness
as we age reverently, even blindly.
so much for wet blisters to educate us,
for lessons we ignored.
Her ship will come for her eventually
contrite crew with hung heads –
apologizing for this lengthy
and torturous delay.
But it is not her stay nor my leave
that taxes, only the sound
of the water, sloshing and sucking against
an empty dock.
And nothing-dreams, stale recollections
Sitting outside my captain’s door
Trying to articulate my thoughts
Throwing my shoes overboard.
Comments (2)
Ah, Say. Lovely as usual.
A few things:
1.) "The sea is heaving witness." Um, huh? "a" heaving witness?
2)"Sitting outside my captain's door". "Sitting" feels a little weak.
3) "Articulate". It sticks out in a poem that's otherwise visceral. It feels like a puzzle piece jammed in where it shouldn't go.
Posted by Anonymous | October 29, 2008 3:38 AM
Posted on October 29, 2008 03:38
about that.
Anonymous,
i think i know who you are despite your anonymity, and i like you!!!
Posted by Say Brosnahan | October 30, 2008 4:30 AM
Posted on October 30, 2008 04:30