CHILD IN A BOAT WITH GEESE
In the festival of pollen,
in the majesty of being alone,
I fastened to the gunwales of summer,
so happy and misplaced,
and walloped by light,
with shorebirds to mock my carelessness,
and its impression,
my scattered self-portrait rippling below.
I'd picked a flower and beheaded it
to see if I could float the bloom
on the puddle in the boat-hull
on the garden-pond in the hill-park
on the earth.
Successful, I said to no one
I wouldn't want to die like this,
and nodded in agreement with myself.
They will say of me while I lived
the clouds did what they wanted.
I thought of weaving myself into
a wide-brimmed hat.
Such is the purchase of sunburn, I thought.
But then the breeze inflated
and I murmured toward the dock.
TYPO
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