nautical poem

after Frank 

in 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.

©2023 Niall Cunningham