(this one’s more an exercise than an actual attempt at poetry. Nine three line stanzas. First seven stanzas have 7 words, 5 words, and 4 words. Then the 8th stanza goes 4,5,7. Then the last one “breaks” the pattern, with 7 words, total. Like, it could be a first line of one of the previous stanzas, or a new poem? Get it? Yeah. I don’t know. I needed something to do this morning.)
We built a boat of cedar wood
and sealed it with resin.
Then we set sail.
The sun, resting in the restive water
cast a gold path straight
to its gold door.
We thought it would be easy sailing,
there on the morning’s swell;
path straight, door gold,
boat full of supplicants, the day breaking.
Yes, you see, the breaking —
that, we didn’t see,
the way the day would break apart,
drive us back to shore,
boat splintered on rocks
light splintered on water, hopes also splintered —
that’s how a day breaks;
cedar splinters in breakers.
Draw apart on the lonely beach, supplicants,
still, kneeling, arms stretched out
to a rising sun,
pulling away from us,
rolls up its golden road
like a carpet, shakes the splinters out
boat and day and heart,
all,
breaking.
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