No Whale In Sight

The fields of mustard
vast enough to acquire height.

The lookouts in the crosstrees.
Ivory-gulls bracket small

imitations of arches.
Words only amaze me.

The outward ornaments of
a turtle-shell. This afternoon

is this afternoon. An armless
man selling gum near the bus stop

his thick stumps
bruise my collar bone,

scalloped lip. The sea
darkening. Only the sound

of wind. Sand drifts &
fleas in my knuckle folds.

This poem first appeared in Red China Magazine, Issue Number One, Volume Two.