A sea that buoys
smile-shaped
canoes.

Welp, mine’s
a compact skull,
with eyes

dull as taupe
on dismal days
& this, most days.

Friendless
under all phases
of the alleged moon

slippery
on sluiced gneiss,
ferns aslant for
nursery webs.

Here my lungs
have been
intimate
with the lesser air.

Most days, I
hire a canoewright,
sulk
where I
can’t affect,

& let go
of my shadow
within vinyl bounds.

Photo by Kyle Loftus from Pexels