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
