(Written in response to Falling Out.)

Late, by myself, in the boat
of myself - Rumi

No stars out tonight. No moon.
The waves are reflecting the sky,
the gentleness of the sky.

I cup my hands and let
a dark pool gather,
black water, black air.

There are no fish tonight.
No pole. No hooks
with their questionable kindness.

No wet-muscled music of oars.
The oarlocks’ empty horns
look like wine glasses filled with sea.

The dark pool leaks, forms
constellations on the burden boards.
Sometimes hands are poor at holding.