Three Ships
I will set out three ships:On the first the belly will sag
With brined glitter and bauble
This one will grow bald about
The stash, and lose it out the holes
But each port wins them more and
They don't remember anyway
The second will sing and wince
Be too busy and fret about
Chase one thin thing to another
Like fast rain on trains and
Never catch a steady wind
It will leak about the seams
On the last and smallest one
Will grow a root crop to
Keep them through the winter
Stockings will be knit from
Briny seaweed and Murre feathers
They will sleep soundly and closely
I sail them all
Hoping that the ones
Without a compass
Will run aground
And sink stinking
January 2008