bowspray crackling
against leatherbound cheek.
flint-hued eyes
set like stones
in the sockets of his skull,
casting out small, flat chips
of the same color
over the endless ocean,
vainly,
after the horizon's fleeing back
his red red heart
curled like a fist
around ropes of blood
the hat he gave his son
that his son left in the garage
now worn & frayed,
discolored like an old tooth,
is lifted, jammed back down
& shifts, back & forth -
brim pointing first forward
then back,
like a compass exposed
to a man-sized magnet
above, the old sky
still appearing new,
and the veiled threat of fall
nestled sweetly
between the words
of the wind
