They say the whole world is carried
on one turtle’s back. This weight might be kinder
and lighter than a man’s guilt
which fills me— in this case, I’m the vase.
His eyelight looks out my eye holes until
I can’t see the horizon—
far off and clear, as water
in a light bulb.
Dry your eyes, Precious, water counts for
less now—
where currents take us up
as indifferently as a cat licks its ear.
Maybe I’ll put it this way—
I don’t know how to talk to you about you
as I can hardly talk about me, because
what we are now is something as delicate
as an achew
that bursts into the world,
unsure where it came from—
dumbfounding the fish.
That isn’t funny.
What I can tell you is:
it’s dark out there. Don’t mistake the yellow shoreline
for safety; it’s just a place for whales to beach.
And,
This isn’t the creek
you first found your feet in.
No comments:
Post a Comment