Slocum’s Solitude

If bleak had been the intention
I’d have worn black
and let the fire die

Let me just
work up a little sunshine
to smear over these filthy panes
and put on some music

There is a pause
isn’t there always a pause?
and some movement
in other rooms
a passing fear of voices

If all these words mean nothing
what then?

The mirror is hung too high now
I can’t share
this false smile

I can sit at tables I have made
and look at books that I have read
and books that I have yet to read, but

One I now recall

I sailed with him once
when it seemed possible,
probable, almost certain

alas
my timid dry feet spurned the sea
from this rooted shore
I neglected to steam and bend the wood,
the toil was lost
in the imagining

Now all that’s left of this unseaworthy hull
is caulking the leaky seams
with Slocum’s solitude