Embarkation

//

Kerry Park in the gloaming.
The prior vault all crinkled up at the edges,
like foil’s burnished rim. As if you could swear
there is a peripheral sheen just beyond
that partition, starpunched and sprinkled
with other-sided luster.

It’s cold tonight. I haven’t a lining
thick enough for this troop through Queen Anne.
Seven blocks back to The Hawkmoon, unnamed lanes,
where the street lights flicker and dissipate
the expelled cloud, evanescent mist curls
like shoulders hunched and pockets,
warm caverns for hands.

I know the starfrothed waves. I’ve seen
the couriers follow them in, landing lights sparking
and vanishing within the black-brined Sound. Oh,
the sea! You Melvillian seducement; I’m far away
from your docks. I’ve spoken to Boreas.
He’s splintered each bone’s step. What tethers
us here, old friend? How strong is your magnetic North?
Polaris, let down your ladder!
I don’t think I’ll stay here long.