of course we broke
\nthe wishbone together
\ngrip tighter with each twist
\nhands in the feel
\nof breaking even
\nplus thumb joint pressure
\nand feathers plucked
\none after another and another
\nuntil endings of alphabet
\nher blue grass skirt rustling
\nin wicked sea wind
\nso we touch off the surface
\nlight, sail easy
\nmix food with prayer
\nthough we\u2019ve gone
\nour own ways since
\nI holding up my end
\nof what looks like a stick
\n(no no no I have no
\nbone to pick
\nwith anybody anything)
\nwithout knowing why
\nafter such a fine meal
\nwe made of it all
\nwith cranberry sauce
\nat each port of call
\non our this-world tour
\nup here or down under
\nswift bow and stern waves
\nhardly a tossup
\nbut nothing to hear in the wake
\noh the afterlife
\nof the poor wild goose
\nstuffed then
\nand done with smoothly
\nalong three saints
\nand still every year
\nshe texts me
\nhappy thanksgiving<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
How nice the party this last day of the year,
\nand the resolutions. He sits down at his desk
\nnow staring at a piece of paper, blank.
\nShe walks in, mutters something, je ne sais quoi,
\nas if a dream had no ending.
\nAnd drawing a pencil line across
\nthe page, indents it with a fingernail,
\nsays this is where you live, right below,
\nat some angle of what you call choice, East Doldrums;
\nwhile she is above the tilt
\nmade by her doodling hand,
\na kind of horizon that any colour
\non a white sheet could serve for,
\nsay a livid lamp shade over Arctic light.
\nBut how do you know where you live,
\nhe says, West Doldrums? Horse Latitudes?
\n\u2018I know because I know\u2019 is the only part spoken.
\nIt sounds like 180\u00b0 flat. A bruise in B minor.
\nHe doesn\u2019t know what kind of line it is,
\nunhooked from verticals,
\nnot seen in any map, or the palm of his hand.
\nShe says she may not cross it
\nand he shouldn\u2019t either,
\nfor the space is a wanting belly to lose yourself in;
\nwould be packed as a silo
\nwere he not such a square peg
\nand made her the first squiggle
\nof New Year worth his ink.
\nSo he fumbles for the foot rule, protractor,
\nindiarubber for exacting care,
\nthe compass and divider in his old school geometry box.
\nHe too knows some things are missing
\nat the moment, above or below,
\nwhichever\u2019s the name,
\nand he tells her sometimes,
\nscrawl or string as short as this.
\nPerhaps it is not visible to the naked eye.
\nHe would not erase it though;
\nit\u2019s the only line keeps them talking.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Fest of course we broke the wishbone together grip tighter with each twist hands in the feel of breaking even plus thumb joint pressure and feathers plucked one after another and another until endings of alphabet her blue grass skirt rustling in wicked sea wind so we touch off the surface light, sail easy mix […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":230,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false,"jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":[]},"categories":[346,349],"tags":[],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"yoast_head":"\n