An Explanation of Sorts
Behold,
such a large expanse,
a canvas suitable
for any mirage, hidden,
or sunken hulk—
a veritable game preserve!
If you chanced
upon castaways,
they might warn you—
any vessel could be
a pirate rogue,
to trust no sail
to an invisible wind.
Do you know your bait?
Lo,
so much thirst
tries the waters,
and grasps
every float who,
to best Jonah,
recall Samuel,
says “Here am I.”
Raise these seers,
float their ire.
Sunken reefs,
blackest storms,
churn the surf,
swirl the current.
But you are not home,
not free.
You cannot cheat
this game—
discover and conceal.
Victims of prattling
prophets tell you true—
presumptuous lips
do sink ships.
The doctrine of the sea
teaches every shark,
any vulture, to
circumscribe
the baptistery.
Bait is for summoning,
boats to keep out the water
or other carnivore.
‘Ware
lifesaver sages
suited up for disaster,
with no other place to go.
Still, not all
who tread water
are shipwreck,
nor command
Galilean feats!
Here is my craft
and sullen conversation.
I read time’s wake,
feel the current
that tugs
earthen vessels
toward inevitable shores.
Know the Captain
and you’ll not mistake me.
I witness the plot,
fish the scenery.
Listen in,
if you want.
Eat out
at your own
risk.