This next poem is called The Move,
and it has an epigraph from Robert Penn Warren's
novel All The King's Men, which reads,
you were alone with the alone and it is his move.
The old Buccaneers are leaving now.
They have had their fill.
A blue halo has circled the imitation gold and the real,
and they are bewildered.
All is shimmering.
The sea is shimmering like a marvelous belly
viewed from the outside during a blizzard in the mountains.
For each other, they are shimmering.
They do not know what splendor is balanced atop for sale now.
What it is that is moving, moving toward them, down.
They rub their bodies.
The skin is a fine lace of salt and disease,
and something is moving just under the skin.
And they know that it is not blood.