Spider Boat

Spider Boat

how many tiny stowaways do we carry now?
how many times will the river slip underground
before it dries up?

and would you go down with the ship?	 Would you go down
with the flag in the mizzenmast 		and the sisters in the hold?

in this dark the wind licks warm and easy
through the fist of the night 		I hear the children singing

no patience, no tricks. 
nothing spun. nothing stitched.

how I think of your hands: soldering the wires on the panels that catch us the sun, tearing apart the cardboard to kindle a flame 
here the curled-in ball of the wolf spider I killed in the corner of my bunk
in remorse like a bruise, but the bosun was just telling me 	the story of the orb-weaver who crawled in his ear	in Saguaro while he slept

and through the fist of the night I hear the children singing

no vibration, no crouch
no venom, no slouch.

because if I were a carouser every river would look like wine
and if I were a christian every arrow would point back to god
and if I were a bolshevik every star would be red
but I am a thing like a spin-dryer,  my mind an eel 
splintering to generations against some blazing rock		and stevie nicks is singing  
I have always been a storm

When I found you you took some convincing
and through the fist of the night I hear the children singing:

no weaver. no thread.
no struggle. no one fed.

then the captain came down and said	 on a scale of one to ten
how would you rank your skill as a swimmer?
and the crew held up their fingers		in fives and eights
and I held up my closed fist		around a lock of your hair