Landing on Water

It’s like 4 a.m. & I’m
using a spoon as a torquewrench
thinking how it might impress
the lady with the
feathered wrists & ankles
whose blurry eyes are more like
shattered beach glass in a vacant lot
near the pier
than these shuttered windows of the soul

if I had a hacksaw I’d play her a tune

but I now invoke
napalm sunsets
not nearly as heavy as the internal combustion that
drives the ocean currents

same way shadows rustle in the wind
when she’s not looking

leaning up against a crooked horizon
in a glass jar
faithfully blank