of course he didn’t say hello on the fairway
of course he didn’t say he might like to drift leeward with me awhile
off course again by 2-4 degrees
oh calibrate! recalibrate! give-way!
oh sailor, say something! no, no, too late for buoys
of course he didn’t reach for my hand on open waters
of course he didn’t heave-to my fendered heart
of course he did not throw a windward glance to charter me on course
too off course by miles
too late to recalibrate
tumbling around in the riptide
all’s fair in love and war
and now I don’t know…
might this papery battleship be mooring to a muddy bar, or rocky shore from myths gone before where sailoresses flocked to mermen in the bow of their ribboned sailboats, perishing port-side?
or might I be underway…
drifting north on the big sea again, astern in my little makeshift cloud-dinghy
waving
smiling
gazing aft