Archived Writing

I remember ginger ale: no brands, flavors; only

eager bubbles, glassy hearts of ice

in tree-bark pails, young linens, marble,

burbled gull call,

making love.

II

The Face that Saved a Thousand Ships

in crimson crown; down below

seems like God

hired a babysitter. Littered

at its feet: driftwood history in driftwood

shacks, mystery and birdwatching: grackle,

gull, jetsam and jetty: all loyal

subjects. The buzz and bore

of court.

We storm the base, slow,

stop, look skyward toward

spire's soaring summit.

III

Placard said the vessel

sunk; concrete hull had

proved unseaworthy; she lies

immersed in shallow grave.

No one injured but the dream.

We photograph her carcass,

ignorantly marveling; pretend

we aren't building ships

for sinking. You're cold.

We shake heads, fold arms;

charming little tale: remains

in history.

IV

Delicate whittled hull: no concrete

here. Rigging, isosceles patches

snatch breezes blown

down aisles in this tiny shop

where we two purchase souvenirs

of honey-moonery.

"Look at these glasses,"

you command,

while I trade lusty glances

with the lighthouse lens

at level of my eye.