Harbor
Dawn
A searchlight
rakes the sea
through a small aperture of cloud
like those
mammoth cylinders
used at premieres. It pans south,
steadily
across the bay, forming
a silver circle for a sinless dancer.
A night-blue
wall of near precipitation
damps it. Dawn puts her overalls on.
I swear
I saw you dancing there
though I know you are a sinner.
Norseman
I come
for you in my primitive body,
all knobs and pulleys and bands,
my belly slung low like an ape's,
my knees and elbows great axe heads,
my muscles lank and deadly.
You say I am a throwback
yet I am so plain-faced
no one remembers anything of me
except my size save you.
You notice
how my thinning hair
changes with the light
and call my face 'indomitable,'
which in your mouth
sounds better than 'handsome.'
You claim my laugh lines
outnumber my grief lines--
then you love me.
Copyright © 2000 C.E. Chaffin
