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Wednesday, February 15, 2012

the watcher

the wind flattens me
on the wooden curve
of the boat
pressing its wild fingers
on the rolled up blanketed watcher-
that is me

i'm watching
the close sky
full of stars

moon's face so near-
comic crinkles
in his grin-
his silver mouth spewing diamonds
along the water
like the sun is not

familiar points of light
wink and beckon
the watcher-
that is me-
only hungry eyes peeping through
my blanket

too cold

too near

too beautiful

but the constellations
bend and call
and i'm lovestruck
watching watching waking and watching
orion chases hour by long hour
across the black-
until he fades
at the wounding paleness
of dawn

-written years ago after a night on 'serendipity', our old boat...