from Cargo Hold of Stars

And your mouth is a ripe syllable
that only the imprint from words of love
allows me to kiss below your lips
at the very heart of a broken sky.
And you say OM.
Why follow a siren
who lacks your tender hands?
And I say hOMbre,
may my skin in response to your carnal call
reel off words softer than your breasts.
OM OM OM
and to think of a woman while at sea
and from so much absence be lulled.



                          *


A heart altered by alien land
knows that the sky doesn’t stand still
and the azure is only fixed
to await the stars.

To imitate angels takes the slightest of shifts.



                         *



I found the sky
as I held my breath:
a bird cut across the night
with that thunderous sound
of a broken frail wave.



                         *



From coolie comes
my being Khakhi, color of dust
lachkar soldier of waves,
I’m a diaphanous dragonfly
dunking my back into clear water,
lascar of salt water!



                         *



And the sea braided the wavy mane
of a nymph at nightfall

and I sifted the sea
to gather all its salt.



                         *



And the moon
dog-tired
sank at low tide
in a sopping crackle and pop.
The sea said these words
that drove our soul
from its body?



                         *



I owe the cartographers
only my unknown journey’s end
but not the stars or naked flesh,
for my vertebrae never saw the light.

I owe the sextants
only my flesh, de-oceanized of time
but not the waves or the dry wind,
for my mouth consumes the sea through its blue womb.