Sooting

These days
I view my reflection with a certain misgiving
as a child
earnestly glaring at a shadow on their wall
waiting to see if it will suddenly arise
sprint across the room
and devour them

These days
the smoke sent up from my smoldering heart
filtering through the branches of my ribs
sooting the leaves
singes my eyes til I squeeze the lids
gasping

These days
the view of the ships from my stoop
and your slippers by the door
sparkles my good eye

Eastward

chrome
she stretches out
bespotted by shadows of clouds
how peculiarly light
how unwittingly unlike
the night which she wears
as a garment prepared
for a lover, transluscent
and shimmering
barely concealing her shape
her broad, fertile hips hewn by the moon
and breasts sculpted by tradewinds

in the vast
black unquenchable distance
out past
where the most reckless fishing men
pretend to have gone
starts her voice
low and pure
and just over
the whitecaps it glides
sweetly into the wid'ning eyes
into the throat and down through
taking hold
in the thickest part of
every man gazing eastward upon her
in each his own language