~ after Armando Valero, “

My love sings to me 
      clothed as if ready to leave  
in the morning for war, as if  
     the boat on which we ride  
did not go both forward 
      and back to a shore we  
only think we can abandon.  
      And the sea is a rough beast
whose waters we are always
      trying to carve into scales,
whose rhythms we are always
      trying to match to the pulse
in our wrists. My love, she
      with a brave blue banner
emblazoned with the sign
      of a creature who might live
on land and water and air.
      My love, with no provisions
other than rebellious song
      he pushes into the wind:
what foolishness to dress
      in the purest linen and a jacket
sewn of summer’s extravagant
      blooms. But what else, what else
could we do under this slate-blue sky. 


In response to Via Negativa: In Winter.

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