Moving On in the Dark Like Loaded Boats at Night, Though There is No Course, There is Boundlessness
Master, then This—I crossed my father’s gate.
Once, I walked into the northern lake
Dazzled by the lubricious feel of old botched
Leaves. When he died, he went on like a loaded
Trout stream—toward a Body larger than this one
Is, wading hip-high in the loaded
Dark of boneless water, moving On.
After Pennsylvania, I couldn’t breathe.
Why would what died once keep on dying off
Over & over like a seam in an old velvet coat?
Every night I am the same brilliant fluke
Rising from my bed like a cut-
Throat trout listening for Trick, not
Moving, bound—& if you die of air as Well
The stream will sew itself shut—my lodengreen gills
Will be rouged past Recognition in a vein of metal ore.
When the boat leaves the lake stacked with odd
Amphibians tinned in salt, the metaled lids
Will glint like zippers, marlin,
Stars. In this half-lured life all
Night long I will listen for you, loaded
Like an ark, Boundless, Void
Of course—moving On.
How long how on how oft how long.
źródło: Read A Little Poetry
10.09.2026