when the horizon
pulses too orange
the sky horribly vast
and gravity
both pushes and pulls
when drowning
when drowning
becomes a choice better than swimming
and
even treading water is too strenuous --
i seek anchorage
even treading water is too strenuous --
i seek anchorage
a comfortable circumference
security in hemp
plenty of fish
plenty of fish
and
a small craft in which to catch my breath
cry a few salty tears of relief
when the anchor
becomes a dutiful cross
too heavy to bear
and i (noose-clad, choking in my own martyred creation)
am struggling in circles --
i long for the horizon
i long for the horizon
pounding heart in search of waves
paddling frantically
waiting for the crack to open between sky and sea
fierce and romantic
like an 8-year-old girl
with a brand new bike
and
like an 8-year-old girl
with a brand new bike
and
everywhere to go
[2007]
[2007]
1 comment:
I find myself often scrabbling for a toehold on the sheer cliffs of most poetic imagery ... but, curiously, the line about the world being open to an 8-year-old girl on a bike clicked with almost perfect serendipity for me.
Nicely done.
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