I am stolen by the taste of the deep
of some fish
that I devour,
and I am carried to the sea,
beneath the belly of a ship,
full of doves, of wax,
and barrels of sweet water.

Passing,
just under my nose,
an anchor falls. It traces,
in its plunge,
a straight line that,
if broken into thousands of tiny dashes,
would mean poems. I would gather them in sacks
to take them to the restaurant,
to read them to the ladies.

From the water,
looking upward,
I glimpse a blue globe,
spun under the moon by the Lord—
it is the sky!

I am vexed by a mist crucified on the wreck.
I try to unbind it, and it, a rebellious dream,
shatters; it cannot reach
enough of the heights…