Lobster

Quiet sun, white dwarf

beneath glass, beneath waves.

And this we lift, and this

we let fall into dark,

into night where you are the only light

shining over what's left;

what's untrapped and staring at the surface.

Here we are away from wooden crates.

Here we are away from boxcars.

Our badges no longer show, our shells

have molted long ago.

Long ago there was another sun

as bright as this false light.

And we swim, and we drift

and we have forgotten which is which.

Single file, march and maim,

till doors of oak swing open,

till doors of oak swing closed.

Repose.

This we lift, this we let fall

into dark homes

where we grasp and touch

with all we have left:

claws and deep breath.

Copyright © 2010 Matthew Minicucci All rights reserved
from Copper Nickel
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission