Night swimming

Night swimming
and I am towing
a boat.
Night swimming
and I am pulling
a rope.
Hauling
hauling
hauling
a hope.

I am kicking
I am paddling
I lose myself in the darkness
feigning calm
for the hopes
of the passengers
on the boat.

We are far from the island
far from our shores
there are hours
and fathoms
and whole dreams
to go.

I hear them singing
hear them chanting
"we are the pirates
who don't do anything"
and I choke at the irony
and on warm weedy water
and I swim
with a rope
and a boat.

Becalmed.
She died.
Dead in the water.
I can stop swimming
by entering the boat.
But the boat is not
where the boat is to be
so is less useful
to the destination
less desirable to me.

And they're in.
And I'm out.
and they're chanting
and I shout
"an hour or so more"
as the dawn takes its form
and the skin on my feet
is blistered and worn
from fins and conveyances
to overcome forms
of the body, resistance
and I have been here for years
night swimming
with a boat
and a rope.

I'm in here

dry shrinking soils

clusters collapse into cracks

drought in the vineyard