hubbub of a city park, whisper of my mind
walking along a paved path, others talking
aloud, a boat — white strings, triangle
of flimsy cloth, silvery hoops & nails joining
three pieces of wood into a proposition
set loose on a pond, motion proof of a breeze
I stop to feel, the sail filling one way
the boat going another, what suggests
a boat will return? a boat might fall over
send boys, their fathers floundering
what if a loitering child or fathoms claim it?
pantomime a world where I presume to speak
everyone a stranger, changeable winds
it’s not my boat, every boat I fancied lost
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