Sailing smoothly through silt,
I acknowledge the slow
pace at which I slide.

Solace is a *******
at the center of the sea.
I am the captain and the fleet.

Serengeti-bound,
all tangled up in the jungles in me,
heart swings from weeping trees

into swampy dawn, greeting
my bow and my stern
adorned in seaweed and serpent horns.

Map tracks never measure weather
nor the sirens’ screams.
While wheel-manning

I sing

songs borne of rainwater, drunken
from compass rose petal cups.

All the severed anchors sink.