Wreck
       

Hammered by stars, the island bides
its solitude with sharp trees of parakeets,

prospect fires, and years of wind.
Even coral must dream of cobwebs.

Every breath powdered down,
a legion of waves forbids my face.

This shoaled world is a hoarse hum
of shells. A refuge in halves: I am

forgiven by water, but savaged by sky.
Beyond the trooped reef the world

is vague as horizon. My jaw is a distant
animal, the copper envy of tusks.

To return woufd burn the sails and rout
the heart. The sea is the opposite of falling.

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Copyright © 2015 Robin Beth Schaer All rights reserved
from Shipbreaking
Anhinga Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission