MAN OVERBOARD


(C.G.R., d. 2004)


Dark head bobbing in a chevron wake

disconnected as the space surged

you slipped through the O

of our grasp.


Cool as Wisconsin, you forgot

safe dreams are toxic, that fear is how we fly --

stood off, maneuvering. We scan your log now

seeking its theme.


Cold virtues are an ancient curse --

they reek of Artemis and Mimë.

To wall one’s heart denying, is to

starve the self away.


Our saving grace is to open

like glories; for openness is all

the earth we have, we dots on the

sliding gray plates


of a following sea.



Poetica Magazine (Spring 2016)