Monday Poem


nothing is further
than a horizon
on a day at sea

storm surge nil, line beyond
the rock of swells
and slap of sea on hull

the horizon,
that crisp ring
that noose

a scalpel cut
between gray and gray
between realms
it cleaves high and low

it's a rift we never breach
but ever keep our eyes on

the edge we never reach
the prey we never snatch
a shore we never beach
a gate that’s never latched

the horizon is tight-lipped and taut
as a lute string strung from zip to zip

distant as a hoax
a hold we never grip
by Jim Culleny 9/7/12