The Personal Space of Norman Milliken « Poetry «
on poetry
on poetry
I imagine you
pulling polished blades
that lift and drop and cut
moon-ivory water,
while fulcrumed in oarlocks
smooth and silent,
your breath
rhythms to oar splash
slipping soundless seas.
unknowns
break surface,
iridescent arcs
of soar and shimmer-
foreign in this air-
beautiful in this air,
shake night rain
on your hands
as you pull ever
outward,
everlasting wrapping you
around shoulders
back to front,
the way ahead
unseen
for jamie a.
