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

Author: Anne Shaw