~ after Remedios Varo, “Find,” 1956
It is a nautilus rounding the shore,
a vessel headed two ways.
It is a swamp overgrown
with neon candelabra.
It is a lighthouse made of steps,
a table set for one in the middle.
It is a rudder sighing
to its own compass beneath the lake.
It is the breath sent up through the spine—
just enough to billow the sails.