Moving On in the Dark Like Loaded Boats at Night, Though There is No Course, There is Boundlessness

Master, then This-I crossed my father's gate.

Once, I walked into the northern lake

Dazzled by the lubricious feel of old botched

Leaves. When he died, he went on like a loaded

Trout stream-toward a Body larger than this one

Is, wading hip-high in the loaded

Dark of boneless water, moving On.

After Pennsylvania, I couldn't breathe.

Why would what died once keep on dying off

Over & over like a seam in an old velvet coat?

Every night I am the same brilliant fluke

Rising from my bed like a cut-

Throat trout listening for Trick, not

Moving, bound-& if you die of air as Well

The stream will sew itself shut-my lodengreen gills

Will be rouged past Recognition in a vein of metal ore.

When the boat leaves the lake stacked with odd

Amphibians tinned in salt, the metaled lids

Will glint like zippers, marlin,

Stars. In this half-lured life all

Night long I will listen for you, loaded

Like an ark, Boundless, Void

Of course-moving On.

How long how on how oft how long.