anchor hitch knot

it's a tiny ship
constructed from a beer can.
you take a breath
and place it in the ocean.

it doesn't sink.
it follows you along the shore
and you have dominion
over the wind,
over the water's edge,
over this construct
that doesn't seem to end.

you look away
towards the surface of the land
and everything it contains shimmers.
the sound you hear
is just a lullaby
from an empty belly.

you fall asleep.

you wake up.
the ocean is still there,
but all that is left is the rope
from a life preserver
that isn't there.

design and review

we are all patterns
of the same junk.

we are strung from
the same clumsy hands
that result in
the design of knots.

we are wretched.
we are brave.
we are blind.

the wind
kicks us in the teeth
and all that we have left
is sharp bone
and the calcification
of everything that remains.

before there is light

we enter this life
on the back
of a box of matches.

everything is dark,
and that's silence enough.

we search for a sound.
we search for any speck of light.

we search for the comfort of shelters
where we can slip inside
as we wait for the friction
of god to occur.