At Sea

If Calypso could keep Odysseus ashore
and stare at oceanic expanses knowing everything before the horizon belonged to her

Could clasp her arms around the breastplate of the warrior of the world

If Odysseus could gaze at her holding peace

at black hole sun, spattered gold in shining shadow 
and still gaze

If Calypso could imagine Odysseus was hers without poisoning the sands with leaden tears,

then refreshed and tirelessly agile,

I can keep you from turning outward your shadow heart.

From telling nonsense lies to my canvas ears.

So will I sit betwixt Calypso’s legs as she threads seashells into the curls–between my tendrils and coils. 

And she can tell me where Odysseus went wrong.

If Calypso can beat down doubt of why he did not stay

Then we can say you drowned at sea.

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