Goelette

Goelette 9/2

Water is a map of stars – a swirl of floating
points on a pulsing black

There is a sense of paint dripping from the moon

And above is the fixed porcelain sky – vented
lopsidedly cracking

We are sitting in a bowl floating that ocean

You are dipping candles – slow wax fingers
I am tying and untying lengths of rope

There are 100 corks filling 100 holes

Our little bowl has no spoon