"Going To Sea."
Ice reflects the moon like an ancient window
on water like salt it floats.
A thin white ash.
It is winter again and I have nothing to say.
It has been snowing all afternoon.
The wind blows smoke down the chimney.
I am weary of some Ishmael and long for the sea.
If they want my taxes they must track me.
Waves break all day by my window.
My boat emerges from fog then recedes again like a face.
The door closes behind me and a little snow swirls in the hall.