May 21, 1982

time beneath a
shard, the intake at the
glimpse of oasis.
Had the water
begun to rise from the floor,
splintered to thigh as you
fell out bared into knives.
Those

coaxed of chains amidst your neck,
for all the medusas still roaming the deck
adorned with your hands, so tied to the post.


Caught hair streaming,
waves layed beyond the bone peering over
into a languid dusk.

Fixed upward were some
eyes, yours as an offering
of egress; or posed to receive
a halo of the crows-nest.

Waving, were your hand, to
mark some bereft apology.

Had she still sounded across the deck,
were knives still thrown
themselves at the irises?
Thrust into some flinched white-
were no clothes still in tatters?
draped from your shoulders for
five more minutes, not yet
caught in some sordid knot, to tie
the water above your hands