Of A Boat, Winged
PRL
06-29-2012


in the landscape hangs cloth
a spear in an ornate clock
shifts seconds onto a hand
divided in two;
those of timous age twitch
an eye on the astral plane
from which none retreat

a five course knot
the decorative shaman
lights votives for god-sight
into the continuum;
every nimbus forms a question to lips
of a boat, winged
drawn to ferry the dead,
the soon to become
construct a lie to face the storm ahead;

six shooters in the woodwork
a beheaded carp
sits upon a gilded plate;
the air stiffens
settles into stone
what now matters is the time-line
there and here

a soul is dust in the air
minute as the space
between atoms


**Dedicated to Ruben Lee Cardona 8-09-1982 - 12-30-2012**

12/30/2020

Author's Note:

On the morning of his passing, this poem struck home for me. At the time, I hadn't written it with anyone or anything particular in mind; but that all changed at news of the loss of my one of my closest child hood friends. Reposting it today in his memory.

Posted on 12/30/2020
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