nautical poem
after Frankin all the poems about the sea,
ones I’ve written and I’ve heard,
no one really imagines the waves as wanting.
its much too painful; a brief kiss of shore
arriving as it disappears, over and over again.
do they really think a wave has no memory?
that’s just the kind of brilliant quip I’d wake you with
wrapped in sheets of naked blue and morning breath
were my hands not full of parting words,
this train carrying me home.