75.

Long before this remnant we began our voyage south,
Esther Pryme would wander out so late the hour
Was very early. She hoped to see Orion high and east.
She went with feline steps, not wanting neighbors
To raise their peasant faces, or to follow in their cars,
To aim their beams beyond the yelping dogs.

Along her walk she'd half recite
These liminal verses in the night:

"There's such a tide when moving seems asleep.
           Too full for sound and foam,
When once again what drew from out the boundless deep
            Goes home."

So much for Tennyson.
This melancholy dream is never done.


Esther never saw her constellation rise
So high above her neighborhood again. 
The rains had slapped the streets and left.
The clouds were low and roiled like smoke. 
Leaving an opossum to skitter across the pavement 
Below the house that reeks of marijuana 
She bent back home alone 
Apprehensive of her coming winter cruise,
Fearful from the crunch of leaves,
Or sound of solitary drop
A distant scratch of music from the gas station 
Something in the brush, a skunk perhaps, 
The sound of a solitary drop. 
Aboard a ship 
I'll roam now that I'm old 
And insomniac. I'll sleepwalk up the gangplank
And roam in circles till 
What drew from out the boundless deep goes home.