Old sailors’ songs trawling up meaning from the depths
In the salt of an old voice
And three women in the belly of a whale
Biblical, human, ambergris trapped
Like mosquitoes until our DNA seeps back into the right bloodstreams
Until we have begun talking the words that make sense again
Until we have begun
I’m lighting matchsticks in a dark alley, trying to stay warm-
What way crawls this, what way crawls this?
And there are three men at the bar and the women by the tap and the dogs howling in the streets and the red dawn
Red sky in morning
The salt and the amber of the moment,
Flies bumbling around an open window, hitting a wall
Can you still see them?
We clasp our hands like lovers but when our knees hit the floor
There isn’t salvation
There are three men, two women,
And the hounds baying.
I wanted to poke the eye of the moon, I wanted to grab your hand, I wanted you to listen,
But here we are- amber of the moment
Golden light, cloth over my eyes
Dear darling, Dear dearest,
Are there not worlds in which we could belong?
Dear, dear, dead--
May we not die
May we live forever trapped in the red sunset and the red morning
And the alarms blaring as the sailors take warning and the storms that tread cautious steps on cautious horizons-
And three men and two women and the hounds screaming and the street lights-
And my hand trapped in yours-
forever is terrifying.
May we live today
And face what comes after
Trawling up meaning from salt rind depths
And barnacle encrusted ships keeping us afloat
And a cool, soothing sea breeze,
And our hands clasped together like lovers.
May we not die