Matthew Nienow It’s the Boat That Haunts You
And so it is, the boat has come to own you, has learned to speak a language you cannot help but agree with, its voice the dark lapping of water against the hull, its song the wind in the stays while you sleep, dreaming of a bowsprit to hold you against the waves, and the boat curls golden bracelets of cedar around your wrists as you plane each plank, its touch the dream of a body becoming whole—to make the shape, to be shaped—and the boat says please, says the honed edge against clear grain is my small prayer to your devotion. May you forget your life, may you always be close.
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