P O E T R Y
View From a Painting
We are from the sea and to the sea we must return
Last night the water was charcoal with blushes of red
I kept the stroke of my oars from matching my heartbeat
the broad-beamed boat so much like a painting
hanging on the wall in my childhood room
Wooden gunwales, oars thicker than arms
dark cloudworks menace off the starboard bow,
I am a Norseman, connected to the sea
through the salt in my veins and
the pulse of amniotic currents
At dawn I wash ashore on an island of rock and palm
with bones scattered white on sand, I learn their patterns
and to move quickly when the crow caws, and like Odin,
give up half my sight for greater sight
because inside the deepest darkness
is where the purest light shines
Boat patched I launch into the surf
hoist the jib, and under press of canvas
the tradewinds ferry me out on high seas
until long days pass in a feverish wake
and then the tossing stops —
