The Navigator

In the lavender light,
He tethers his treasures
To the deck.

(A splintered kitchen —
The silent watcher wonders —
Leans into
The boundary.)

Bow-legged flatfoot —
An awkward stance
Until he hoists
The axe —
Makes the deadwood

(New arrivals
Through the gate,
Then carry on.)

In the light,
He consults the charts,
Sets his compass on the rail,
Finds the course.

(The watcher sends
The switchgrass

His clouds condense
And I lift my hands
To set
The signal fire.

(The salteaters
Drink deep
At my eye.)

He casts his net
Pulls in birdsong,
Rain on the sail,
An electrical storm.

(The watchers gather
To warm
Their shadow-hands.)

I wait now —
As I always wait —
For the ebbtide fear —
Waning now.
And my skin
Like so many
He turns bloodriver
Into a chorus
Of sighs —
Shapes my bones
Into wings and sails,
Then lets loose
The winds.

(The watchers turn
To sing now —
A chorus of questions,
And rain.)

He asks for too much
(Or never enough) —
So hard to keep
A hold
On that rope,
Pull the weight
Through Leviathan depth.

(They wait now —
Hands on the latch —
To hear
An answering

I would give it
If I could —
The river stone —
Blood-circuit —
Wind north and south.
I would give it all
To hear his voice ringing
On the rocky shore again.


About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

One response to “The Navigator”

  1. Jingle says :


    vivid.visual imagery, keep it up.


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