III. to my favorite arrow-maker
an exhibitionist
after the last flood ruined
the paper boat i never learned to steer
around the island which i fled
only a shuttle bus remains
we were young then as we argued
about nothing at all
like who made the quickest arrows
whose was the most beautiful body
it's a long way to the bus stop
but they still show up
on windless afternoons
some limp who were smooth
distance runners
others lisp in a grimace of need
who were once glib and well loved
whatever led me back was something
wilder than the tone of a voice
asking what has taken you so long
the reluctant dead are here
crowding out the living
who cry it isn't fair
time has not tampered with your face
there are no bells around your feet
today ghost hands still push along
the shore my paper boat the shape
of dreams which never went under
in the flood that frightened me away
I. launching
who will launch my paper
boat
dry docked along my veins
while wings on take off
scar my face
fingers that shaped the boat
remember well
and walk the yellow lines
looking for your address
champagne bubbles spell forget
in every shattered glass
while fog horns sob
beyond ballad and rain
II.
maiden voyage
a paper boat is not easy to make
it requires intricate folding and unfolding
and much care lest it turn into a hat
which is not any good for either going or coming
my boat moves obedient to a timid prodding
and floats on and on until the weight of the water
soaks into its pores and sinks it slowly
a sad looking paper boat lying on its side
a long dead animal which will never come home
IV. glass mountains
if time took longer than the blood rushing to my face
or the pace were gentler than the flow of everlasting
covenants I would with dedicated slowness remove my clothes
piece by piece and fold them into a corner of your life
and go back to them only after a quest of fingers and tongue
on every rumored treasure the pirates in your childhood
might have hoarded while the glass mountains close by
repeat the motions but not the fire of stone and ice
naked we are most faithful to the vows we shared
this is the closest we can come face to face with loss
reckoned in terms of what little remains after a while
a tarnished coin in your hand a wilted paper boat in mine