Anne Shaw


I shouted, take me furtheron the grey schismatic sea

  oceaned where I can’t discern    the dark heft of my body from its breath

         each precise impingement

    etched in my pliant skin   further, into silver liveried light

           where each unruly instance

              was wind & wind & wind

  shirring the rampant spirit from its lung

      sailcloth sacked in the maelstrom         kelp in its seams of salt

    the rockshore laved, heretical

       we lawless to each other      as the sea

I called out break or give meto or from myself

we pressed toward the far unyieldingspindled star

I bent my eyes toward the weldlight

one blue point to harbor my dissent

but freighters tacked the shorelineyou at the bulkhead balkedboats drew in their gill nets

I watched as the white museum shut its wings

and you avast    my promisorwith your sheetsyour holdfast hands

what of the coraclewhat of the cormorantwhat of the waterbirds’ dream

how they stand aghast on the pilings

now that the sign on the boathouse reads no wake

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