" Fate "
Evergreens are taken by rough men
who bury the river in thumping rafts;
leather boots tread the spinning bark,
the logs run the men.
Tri-masts define the tall ship,
they anchor taut sails as she surges
through swells and spray,
the sea sails the ship.
We circumnavigate each day,
the body seismographs the hours,
ink of sweat stains the air,
we cause passage of the day.
* * * *
Her breath is cool on the molten glass
that turns on iron rod;
a globe of agate brass woven from memory
behind cool eyes.
The bottle is wide mouthed, full bellied;
glow acquiesces to green tinged clear;
a golden rainbow in sunset
that surrenders to broken dusk.
Her hull is pushed through the bottle mouth,
the common string pulls the masts upright
above her bronze body, twisted strands of hair,
the varnished woman of the prow.
© 2004 Steve Williams
|
|
