by Taylor Roberts

Nauset was your periscope.
It held out what all you wrote,
Lantern-pages, pipe smoke, smoke-signals, pages.
The waves waxed and receded like the sea was hormonal
And it shook you, didn’t it? It quaked you.

You had liner notes spread on the floor
For cushions,
Heaps of letters and others' fortunes and
Tickets that you’d saved to use for kindling.

A patchwork sea you’d make of scraps and loose news
And, didn’t you?
With those right and pious science minds
Who’d roam
And fluff and ponder and deny your I.
You were elevator music in those days, limp
And see-through; straight through glasses and lenses
And mirrors too, my darling, mirrors too.

Nauset held it like a keyhole, while you
Sifted, shifty, flint without the stone.

[copyright Taylor Roberts 2008]

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