Two Ships

Our embarkation?
An abrupt, blistering
of coals drove great pistons
pumping fire for two
who'd long moored
in drydock.

But heat turns tepid
when lingering on months -
vessels slow at the chop
of waves beyond
the first urge
from known shores
into foreign waters.

Doldrums then

where motion seems to cede.
We've one room's clime,
and metaphors have drowned
in the hard work 
of swab buckets,
(though ghost ships may
run the lanes for years).


Partition

Two bodies side by side
atop their bed
companions in sleep
undisturbed though one
seems to stretch
toward the other hoping
to share her pillow.
A creak from floorboards

that the child stirs
then curls nuzzles closer
to his mother's breast tiny fingers splay across
the sculpted contours
of her body she feels
fitted for this purpose
her fleshy ply to his.

The awkward charm
of a burrowed chin
while they doze while
another stands
within the doorframe
gazing into the scene
as if it were 
a water-filled globe
as yet unshaken

by his tightening grip
(his cheek pressed
to the cold glass he stands 
the threshold against 
the curving partition.
He'll clear his throat
if necessary raise his voice).