The empty page, the unadorned and pure
blue above, the ungoverned wind that whips
through the trees without thought. I am a ship
on an unnavigable ocean, the clouds obscure
the stars and Sun, the wisps of water injure
the astrolabe's readings. I trace her hip
the way the boat rides water, her thin slip
is tossed across the room. I am unsure
of the meaning of any of this, which hints
are to be pursued, why the lipstick on the cuff
of my shirt is so dark. The soft-tan tint
of her skin is like a book and each leaf
discloses a new mystery. The narrative went
from page to page and I slowly drifted off.
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