From here, the train and the sea, the gulls move freely
With the crows, and the herons, and the sky
Gives omens of gray. Where comes the rains –
Do they come from the moon? I might have asked
If I were still a child, when I was a fire.

But now I’m a lamp, turning on and off with the nights
And days. The harbor seals duck and roll
As my mind peeks in and out, sweat beading along
My supple skin, that burns and bleeds
At a gentle touch.

The trees drip, and solicit those feelings that stick
To the bottom of a well-used pan. My heart’s an accountant
Occasionally tallying tears, and today as the trees
Are limp from storm, she asks and measures the weight
Of my water, finding me heavy
But only on one side.

The boats come, each lined up in their row, the captains
And passengers navigating via lights and sounds
And unspoken cues. Hands waving, lines tightening and
Loosening, water rising, water falling, a blaring ring
Declaring halt and entry. Each glance a letter
Mailed and stamped. They get through.

I get through. The hatch-marked bridges close and open –
So I get through. And I gambol the last few steps,
The sea at my back, I remember how to skip
As I did when I was fire. So heart runs the numbers
Again: I’m still heavy, but only on one side.