Because you
came here dressed as a man,
in a shirt.

Because things keep slipping.
Shifting distinctions.
Hiding your desire for
alike.

Left adrift
you venture your throat
to a word that tightens
around the sounds you might
produce.

You surrender to your own story,
told. Moth like
hands wide, slow
flapping,
in and
out.

An imprint held.
Curved like a bone.
Leading edge to foil.

To reveal where thoughts are
sinking.

A last glimpse,

until
it bores its way out.

above or below the water line
slowly rocking
keeping the sea out
and the passenger within

like your cousin the stave
fruit of the vine ages entombed
becoming an intoxicating draft

love the analogies in your last poems, very visual

Thank you

Poetic
s1ow
pkd