boat

My chin rests over the side

I can run my hands through the water but I can’t touch you

Green to purple nighttime breaks and it burns

Visions jump from the boat into gold-fringed water

You lay on your back telling me

‘The word boat is merely a self-portrait,

The b and the t are the ends

While the two vowels make up the side

…Boat…’

My eyes focus sharply in the dark

You, shore, the space around Orion’s belt

Heavy spider legged fingers I take and run through

Garlands of hair curled by the wind

My thoughts are on archways of limestone

Over a path that leads to an orchard

A tree splashed dark by a lover I once had

And spring grasses high past spying heads

I stroke the ridge of a watery roof, ripple by ripple

To arch over and discover a chest browned and beating

A lifetime collection of full moons within your eyes

And that which is common but always wanted, for me to hold

I will stay here with chin over side- hand in my hearts tomb

Looking out at the colours and myths of Caravaggio

And I will merely make fantasies of you, my friend and teacher

The sailor who is the poet