The sea is dark hope.
Nocturnal waves cover the low moon,
for this is my blood. There is an impasse
between the tides and the whisper of women
wearing huddled scarves of light. In the quay
boats wait for the next catch,
their nests of nets are wrung dry of the quarter moon.
If I wake up tomorrow at the first ship’s bell
and slip into hip boots like they were a woman’s embrace,
then the sails will take me to where they want to,
to where there is no turning back,
to where there is never a safe harbor where I go.
Editor’s note: The poem is based on Based on the painting, The Port of Boulogne in Moonlight, by Edouard Manet, 1869, and may be viewed online.