Meditation: On Being a Mystery to Oneself
       

The oars of the ship called Late Forgiveness lift,
then fall. The slaves at the oars
have done singing — it's pure work, now.
The galley-master stands as always, whip in hand,
but for the moment
                                in idleness. They say when discipline
dreams, it's just the one dream: hands
breaking from stillness, like hands of course, but like
hands when, having lost a thing entirely, they move
entirely by definition. The ship
moves slowly. It's a ship. It's a storm-beclouded
stronghold
                  in the dark, receding. They say discipline's flag
is blue — three deer in flight; three stars
barely show, above them.

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Copyright © 2015 Carl Phillips All rights reserved
from Sugar House Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission