August Pleasureboats
Blast me sideways from the shore, give me rickets
and wrecks until on the high seas of my life
I learn to revere the lime, opportunistic
paste space on to time, seadog heart holing the myth
at last that where we are can be made sense of
only by the stars. Above all, let my shore be intended,
bless me with broad eye and tall obsession
though becalmed or fired upon or wind-upended.
Even here, these days, sun-swooned in the park,
poled out in pleasureboats with kids in tow,
where king-cones, spouses, burgers, dogs and cokes
strew round, mown pleasure-lawns – even here, let me know
wind can rise, fill sails, shake a journey out
upon the vast, wild seas of the heart.
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