Sea (a poem for Cybill)


Like a sailor, you have tattoos
though you choose to wear yours
as scars.
Those are medals.
But you`ll never understand that,
because the port
you want to reach is like
the sunset by the sea.

And you`ve sailed under
stormy skies, riding
the maelstroms, the
ill-winds, clinging to
that masthead of your dreams
for dear life, for tomorrow,
while lightning bolts zigzag
down all around, alongside
your imperatives and
those written down
in bold typeface--
--a Sphinx,
to save face--

Its figurehead perched from
high above the rostrum of
your aggression,
aimed at the halo of my digression,
from atop your
naked shoulder blades, with all
its secrets to keep but a few
to betray, a telltale from
your big brown eyes,
pleadingly so,
in the bedroom`s half-light.

You do not daydream of flying,
but you do not believe in mermaids
either. That leaves me in
a very difficult position:
You`re much stronger than you`ll
ever take the credit for, but far
more fragile that you`re willing
to accept.

Your presence makes waves.
Your absence has the gravity pull
of a star.