islands of

flat ice

water rotate

drifting

down coast

a pair of

goldeneyes

whir and skim

the surface

legs folded

in arms in

arms folded

the sweetest

drop of human

honey—this

gift

the giving

and the drift

in calm

thawing light

Jonathan Skinner will read at

the Church on Saturday, May 20 as part of the tribute to

Robert Creeley.

You couldn’t quite designate this a safe harbor

Although boats galore of every origin

Crowd the steel piers in some form of orderly

Chaos amid the waters edging Amsterdam.

Sometimes one gangplank leads across another

Gangplank moored adjacent to the vessel you inhabit

So you must master two or even three

Strategies before you reach dry land.

“Could I buy a girl a drink?” you ask,

Both of us giddy with desire

We’ve concealed more days than reasonable.

Metal steps lead up to empty decks

Atop the ship where coupled passengers

Linger to survey the looming view.

And with each passing night the sky comes closer.

“Look. There’s the North Star gleaming over us.”

You point. I am oblivious.

This spangled space must be a universe

I’ve never seen before.

And when you hold me close against your chest,

You ask if I can feel you as a man.

“I can,” I say. “I do.”

You bend and press your mouth into my neck

And all the constellations hold their breath.

Ansie Baird will read at the Church on Saturday, May 20

as part of the tribute to Robert Creeley.