Another old poem to appease the blog gods. I’m deep into the tenth revision on the novel, so old poetry shall have to sate. Thanks much to Suzi Ramsey Towsley for use of the smashing pic!


Courtesy SRT Images: All rights reserved.
“True” Courtesy SRT Images:
All rights reserved.




born of sky so sharp it cuts itself

and bleeds pink-green light

on coasts of frosted shoal

on labyrinths of ice and stone

they emerge from fog


air hisses across their skin

keeping breath with the oars

muscles tighten   reach

creak of leather   wood

the ocean’s bearing

shoulders narrow   broaden   narrow

closing in   they slow

slither-slow and cease


they drift


silence holds the sky

above conspiracies of wind

hushing pines along the shore


they wait   oars aloft

the ocean trembles


smoke trickles from the horizon

seeps into a gloaming sky

steel stirs against their thighs


their oars   fin-faithful

sink then surface

fast falling   drum steady

rise gleaming   dripping silver


plunge toward shore





*First published in Cirque, Dec 20 2010




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