By The Sound
Of The Horn
Gods blow warm
over earth’s south ridge,
pulled by the daymoon;
transparent, aerial.
Coquinas bite a
spanish click into
white sands, kissed
warm, as name
ribs to talk
invisible, cut by foam.
Porpoise herd outerbanks
their black backs
carry deep to sea;
beneath green crests
absorbed in expanse of tide,
bodies grow to stone.
Narwhals play
in white tipped thoughts;
sea unicorns sperm
to color, winged by sun,
shimmer clear the
amorphous eye of day.
Sinbad dressed
in skirts of sea,
shark’s dagger tied
by gull’s wing, follows
the horn with dream sharp
spear, deep to the virgin’s home.

In our body’s
burn, we breathe
the moist sea ghost,
conjurer of dreams,
and hold starfish
by the pointed end of life.
As mermaids
swim sound to sky,
orion steps from
the sands of night
to hunt the growth
of sun thrown stars.
By sounds of the horn
we will love;
by bells that ring in night,
we will walk the sown
seam of growth
beyond the crested moon.