Old Song

Hurt-sick, say it, heart-sick, you say it
Sea-swell, sea-pulse, sea-push-sway,
Blood-clash, this tired wish, you say
There’s a stone, a heart-stone, a question
Tormenting itself with itself, looks in
Blood or under blood for an answer that binds,
Rebinds, reechoes memory in mind,
Anemone in tide-pool, hand in her hair,
Follow the dove as it flies between the rocks,
Crashing rocks, wandering rocks, deadly
Rocks that clip her tail when she flies through
These hands, these doves, flight inside them,
Fear follows fury, what follows fear?-
Blood-lines, shipping-lanes, duty, transport,
Customs, freight. The invoice’s chant:
Hurt-sick, heart-sick, ventricle, bay . . .
Do you answer it? Does it demand answer?
Heart that thinks, mind that rhymes
Clarity with charity, care with spare,
Heart-shard, heat-shield, a cargo only of
The old armor, worn inside the skin, where
Mind girds memory, and the heart prepares
Ocean-side, night-long, dove-song, for the prick.