Fjord Passing

Fjord Passing

I could call it a heaven
Or a hell

Maybe it was even

Where sailing
On air

Paddlers went by
With oars in hand
And they were rowing



Leaving wake

As a microcosmic

To tell the tale
Of where each
Came from

A Wedding Proposal

A Wedding Proposal

We don’t have to dress up
In expensive
$5,000 disposable lace
Or 10-piece tuxedos.
Every guest will be urged
To arrive comfortably.
The guest list itself
Won’t be too long,
And the dock where
Two yachts are waiting
Will only be full of
Those who really care.
Your friends and family
And my friends and family
Will separate with us
Into the ships representing
Yours and mine, and
I’ll kiss you before we go.
The ships will sail out
A few miles, maybe to
International waters, and
Then after parallel receptions
The ships will converge.
Close enough to set a
Gangplank from one to the
Other, after they anchored.
Our loved ones will watch
As the priest hoists up
And we walk to meet.

And there we will be.

I’ll be taking your
Fourth name.

Viking Voyagers

Viking Voyagers

In the shower with her
I felt clipped. Vulnerable.
Like my wings were
missing, but in their place
was something like cybernetics;
when you know your heart is
pounding, but don’t know
what microscopic things are
happening to beat it as
a drum beats. Every cell
and nanomachine in lost wings
is a longship full of vikings,
each feeling the same pulse
by tempo setting figureheads.
Each cascading piece of water
is a morsel of vitality,
and like the drum, beats in
rhythm with its spray. As
my veins’ currents spray
along the hull of longships,
carefully surging once a moment
to the great drum basin.
Never to drain the drum,
but the water to drain
down the great shower basin.

Sea of Doors

Sea of Doors

We were in Maine
On a rowboat, charging to an island
Through all the rain
The waves were high enough to see

Even though I agreed to this
I don’t know you or you
What is this heavenly place?
It’s not like I remember it anyway

Who are you?
I fought to forget and now I know
I remember you
But how could I ever?

I don’t know you
These swells are not the same
The boat isn’t set in similar wood
All so familiar yet nothing I know

Why do you turn your back on me?
Are you ashamed of what you did?
Over yellow rain coats, water falls
Below the boat, the sea does call

I have a key
In front of me
A door behind
It: infinitely more

Standing on spits of land
Their handles call for my hand
To turn the knob and step into
A world I once thought I knew

The rowing continues
My escorts say nothing
They both know me and I know them
But I don’t know me, or where I am