when i arrived at the marina,
my lips in a sling, my limbs
like fishing poles lost at sea.
yet soon the marina opened up to me
and my eyes, peeled like ripe oranges,
could not keep off some blue-gray beauty,
like a single drop of illustrious rain
that dances on the forehead of downtown
Stillwater, where the ice cream melts
to a laugh, where the river overflows,
where the marina lies and never goes.
No comments:
Post a Comment