The minotaur, trapped for many
years in a labyrinth, is the
sailing master, pilot of the
ship. His mother, a depressed
biologist, is below deck,

lamenting the loss of her
husband, a bull who was
killed by a matador—now a
pirate, chief executive of an
international fast-food company.

The rigger, master of the sails,
tracker of air and ocean
currents, hermaphroditic,
was a juggler, a high-wire
walker in the traveling  circus.

The look-out, with telescope,
in the crow’s nest. An orphan,
raised in a Taoist monastery.
Describes his life as a
journey of wandering solitude,

All looking for—refuge—
a place to live, to be,
an island with fresh fruit,
not sinking into the sea,
and not on any pirate’s map.

Thank you.

that's the beauty of attention.

Children imitating
flowers in the
school play. A
father in the
front row falls
asleep,
missing their
great allegory.

The dog howls
as a dark cloud
slowly passes
overhead, then
lays down, curled-
up, tail wagging
waiting for all to
be still and bright.

The rain ends.
All is lush,
and glistening,
and verdant
and a
beautiful
young girl
yawns from
boredom.

The very tall man, the owner of
a cosmetics company, is reading
a detective novel about a con-artist.

The little girl in the corner of the room
is calculating how long until the end.
The end of what? the very tall man

wonders. In the room above his head,
his wife, a chemist at his company,
is having an affair with the town’s

only physician. Outside in the tall
weeds, lit only by the dim glow of a
waning crescent moon, a fortune-teller,

formerly a lawyer in the public defender’s
office, is giving a reading to the
very tall man’s chronically ill twin sister.

Using ordinary playing cards as her
vehicle, the oracle looks like she’s
playing solitaire. She stares blankly at

the ill woman for several long seconds,
then states flatly and decisively,
No hearts, my dear, simply no hearts at all.