He is a sailor Is I guess what I told my father He's a sailor and he lives I said On the other side of the six-foot wooden fence At the back of the Backyard I talk to his voice Through a knothole A funny thing to say My father says and I say The sailor tells me the color Of storms and depths And gulls and the wind On the water in the light What it looks like When lightning Strikes ship And showers down Through the rigging I told my father And my father nodded I see it now across the years You muses who disappear Like the weary Beggar with the sign HUNGRY Sent me slipping into a burger joint To get a hot chuck with cheese But when I step out To give it to you You've gone away like a minute With sad incredible eyes Shackleton journaled He and his men were attended By some presence Among them but missing In their midst as they were Falling into lunacy Lost in the icy wastes They swore it was a resurrection To the moonface Grinning with terrible mischief Unlock me muses Of the lost and losing And the seashell kindly gnashing to fill me Capture and demolish this will Be thee emperor imaginary Of dawn and skyline Tell me stories of the old seaside From your contents throw me lines Made on the loom of days As you pound me with waves Before you vanish ravish
JESSE NATHAN studies, writes, and edits poetry. He lives in San Francisco.
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|Title Annotation:||two poems|
|Publication:||The American Poetry Review|
|Date:||Sep 1, 2016|
|Previous Article:||Excerpts from Book of Minutes.|
|Next Article:||November 14.|