The Boat
Maybe the eyes of a dragon
or goddess
glare from its prow.
glare from its prow.
More likely it leaks, loses
an oar,
and reeks of rainbows awash on a sheen
of gutted salmon and gasoline.
and reeks of rainbows awash on a sheen
of gutted salmon and gasoline.
If it’s a liner, we lash
ourselves
to whatever will float or sell.
to whatever will float or sell.
No matter which. We choose.
We’re aboard,
icebergs or no, as we plow
through the songs of the siren stars—
icebergs or no, as we plow
through the songs of the siren stars—
one boat, black water, dark
whispering below.
~ Paul Fisher
~
(Rumors of
Shore)
(Contributed by Holly Thomas)
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