Sweeter Air
Give me the sweeter air of his breath,
The smoother wave of his voice;
Voice I've never heard, where freedom
Would sing in starfish octaves,
And oceans float in syncopated bliss,
His eyes of seaweed like a glass-bottomed boat,
Upon the foaming sea of me,
Transparent to the marrow'd depth of my bones
Below his arc of circling days and nights.
And gulls crying and the west wind answering
The tides; and a dead pirate's buried cache of shells;
All the mysterious stash of a single mermaid,
Who once cut legs into her own tail
Trying to follow him out of the whirlpool.
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