you stand on the dock, unsteady
the boat pulls in the anchor
links of chain surfacing one by one
the way you read words
the way you wanted to pull them
from the literary journal and carry them
to set them down elsewhere

you worry about the resonances of
hollow hulls, empty mess halls
all that pulling
the people like anchors keeping the world in place
thinking nautical thoughts
painting their front door blue
referring to Chapstick as lip gloss
purses as pocketbooks
thinking prettier thoughts

(January 9, 2003 - spawned from a class exercise)