C.J. SAGE – Ⅳ
Little Sat in the Fields, Eating
Lost had dragged doors
past the wharf,
and Secret took them
all into its boat,
rowed out far
and offered the doors
to dawn in proposal.
Lost dangled ankles
from the pier, celebrating.
Tying the surf in knots,
Someone boarded ships,
saying many snakes
were stowed there.
Secret laughed a long
high-headed laugh.
*
Lost roomed in the cabin,
sweeping curtains,
collected nervous music
from the floorboards.
The very first fist,
said Secret, had swollen
with songs’ ripped pages.
Plucking walls, Lost
listened, quiet as cream,
lined fingers
with brine-soaked sticks.
Louder then, Tremble
married Still
upon that. With the dizzy-
rent horizon, Lost remained.
*
Lost stretched from the couch,
shoving throw rugs.
To Lost, the room looked
blue and crème as the sea.
When the rug fringe poked
Lost’s toes, remarked Secret:
Make a concert of it.
By heart, Lost
leafed it all like sheet music.
Fumble partnered Ease
after that. And from the long
ear, Lost returned.