, , ,

I didn’t know it could get cold,

on this sea, on this balsa raft

no one knew the moon was old

and hot and dripping with craft,

plotting our sins, were giants sink

and hyenas have laughed

she jumps in with a wink

from the top of the mast

were birds swarm and Hindus think

her lips are from the past

her feet, thick with mold

she only kisses sailors ofan anchor’s caste