Somebody said the sea would come to us
cutting like an army through wheatits
captive women, dolphins in the wake
of our little boat. As water drains
every wife’s a sea-wife. Such traffic
you would think it market day!
Hooked to their elbows, baskets
of apricots and limes
anchor the widows in the muddy slopes
where the world begins. The elements
have never been more married.
I have grown to love tending this garden
that barks and coos in the moonlight
when there is a moon.
Spindly giraffes cluster at the bow.
Ants inch down the plank in twos.
The sheep are nervous. Their thick wool
steams as the dew burns off.
Crises crush men more. In sleep
my husband’s pitchy hands hammer the air
as if another boat could float us back
to who we were. I imagine
I am the mountain he teeters on
as every wave of wind comes past.
I watch for clouds.
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