They Will Sew the Blue Sail

THE SALT-WIFE | G.C. Waldrep

disillusion’s rimed nock

affracts the hour

this blade-country


into a word,        a leper

(adrift among staithes)

even the sky is moving

its black hives

to some higher ground,

I observed

I bring a razor

to the wedding feast

see how bright

the knot     that testifies

to the gold

coin’s mechanical thrust

invisibly, the shore

signs back to us,

solving for              (ex-)

o day-linden, en-

hespering,     a blind clot

& nuisance

to the binding-hooks

my hair grows towards