Crisscross
I think of the voyage like a past you needed
To catch up with. A congruent line.
The months since the journey move in
Their own latitudes and longtitudes
Crisscrossed with color and weather
Hardened on your face
A storm: you stay in the middle of things
I head for the bunk
I remember waves like fountains etched on
paper
We rounded the point longing for harbor
The blue wind, the biting spray
Still you thrive in an ocean’s wild night
And spike your coffee with too much rum
The problem is post-Atlantic
And must be solved on shore
Now you blame the both of you:
The one with the mad eyes and briefcase
The other for the sea story he holds.
Page(s) 110
magazine list
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- Second Aeon
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- Shearsman
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- Staple
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