Notice From The Harbor

It’s way past time/ to unplug  the sockets /of those turning/ on their sides in heat. We’ll come up with a plan,/for more than  clay pottery/crafted and delivered in exile./We seek to end the habit/ of wine on ships./Once things were easy, /they could seek you as victim,/oiling and waxing the decks. Shut down under the viaduct, wearing the scars they inflict,/they shrink up and vanish./But you still hear imp voices/ in the breach of the Narrows./I can melt in the rain, get caught in the crossfire, /in a place they sought to conceal. In a dizzy admiring of winged beasts/they came up with something,/replacing their bondage/with land they managed. Wresting free from the mooring,/ (and one another )/in an offhand dice game

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