Sunday, January 29, 2012

You, me, the moon



You, me, the moon after the fight

The moon swooned
like a drunken sailor
dipping his hand into the sea.

What's imported
as the water laps
into dreams?

Getting lost
one way or another,

The sailor flips his palm
like a giant fish;
pale fingers glint wet
like gills.

The boats disappear
into the sea,
into the dark sky and night.
They drown in the orange moon's descent.

We follow.

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