13 November 2009

p.a.d. day ten


On a log dark-hued as this ocean night we are cloaked.

The murk and mist mask
a too-big nose and
knobby knees.
Everything is the ocean.

When I close my eyes, you sing I Want You to Want Me.

I will darn socks someday, some
day, and you will forge pots and pans out of
iron, but that life is thousands of
nautical years away.

What would it be like to wave, to ripple across the
surface headed nowhere in particular, to vibrate from
moment to moment? Veiled in water, waves,
name and number withheld.

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