Poetry Wednesday

Two Ship

Boatsman,

I wandered, into the killing season

                                                      and You followed

You are your tangles; your boat with sails and stripes

                                   sewn up and the greatcoat

with no pocket (You expected it to hold)

such fearsome strain

on the rigging:         it darkens on the edges

but holds, and in your coat

                           You are your own child

with a beard full of brine, and it keeps You

tempts Me to come up

I am terrible, curious,

red on the edges (Gorgeous fish)

       I have found my anchor,

here am I,

                purring with the urchins

that feel everything You send into the water,

and the leaves,

exhausted with weight and leaving,

                              are light enough.

Annnnnnnnnnnd, something not-mine that I love:

Red Cloth

by Jean Valentine

Red cloth 

I lie on the ground 

otherwise nothing could hold 

I put my hand on the ground 

the membrane is gone 

and nothing does hold 

your place in the ground 

is all of it 

and it is breathing