Daniel, sitting in his yellow canoe
on an afternoon sky of wedgewood blue
and pillowy white clouds, is
without paddle and, it appears,
the remotest notion of where he is.
Faraway, but behind him, an island
of claustrophobic greenness may be
a destination, but it is doubtful he’ll
look that way, and if he did, it’s
doubtful that he’d choose to go there.
At the moment, it seems more likely
he will step from the canoe onto the
marble-still surface,
then he'll be something like a flint arrow
in vertical descent.
No comments:
Post a Comment