This little boat of happiness
has a gunwale rimed with salt;
your lacerated hand will feel
the prickle and the fault.
The distiller has a funnel
where sun sparkles on the drip:
if there's joy in pure water,
there's smarting where you grip.
Seawater and blood
are the same in vacillation,
this dissolution followed
by that desalination;
The sea is wide and sad
and full of ions of magnesium,
solute gold enough for princes,
and ions of potassium;
We purify to drink because
we have no other choice,
but it's salt in the water
that gives our tongue a voice.
1 comment:
Jean Morris suggested that this would work better in quatrains, and of course she was right.
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