pipeline sunset

float to the top
like ice in the glass,
their density more than that
of water, river- or canal- –
would ice float in a tumbler of tears?
i wonder, but the sun
is already slowing,
its journey through
glassless windows
illumining the last
of the graffitied detail, lights on
the guntower (or so you call it;

though surely it was once
an industrial smokestack,
surely…) reflecting
in the slight dark waves.
enough crying, you say,
and we sip on, our
tongues searching
for the edge
of happiness,
the point at which this
boathouse tips. the sun
now well and truly
fallen & the place

full up with suits, we
take our leave; i run
my fingers over the dark
murals of you, feel
the lingering
warmth of cement. we
used to know this place,
the angle of its suns.
now in the dark, in
the wind, i find again
the poems we may
write tomorrow,
and then, and then.

9 thoughts on “buoyancy

  1. our
    tongues searching
    for the edge
    of happiness,…and running my fingers over the mural of you…very cool lines joanna…excellent repetition in the end as well….it echoes the feelings in the words…


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