hideaway
I was in a wooden boat.
In the boat were pieces of paper,
all of them were crumpled
or creased, like little scraps of moon.
All of them were blank.
I was in the ocean. It was night.
The water was a square dance.
It linked its elbows around the boat.
I tapped my boot to its fiddle skin.
I was alone there.
I thought about plates of plums and
tiny birds balanced
around the edges of the plates,
eating the plums.
The sticky sweetness.
I dipped my hand into the water.
The ocean has a smoother hand than me.
I heard a goose-call above me.
It was alone too.
It tried to carry moonlight between it’s wings,
around it’s brown feathers.
Still, some splashed off.
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