No matter how brightly blue the sky is,
the sun always becomes gray on the waves,
its swaying membrane of transparency
a pale nothing like the skin that enclosed
its jangly mass of muscle, veins, and nerves
just enough for it to swim without fear.

Yet it aches for a mouth-hole pried open,
a kiss rushing to flood the rivulets
of lung trapped madly inside the rib cage
until the body stiffens into a dream
among chunky logs softened by wind, sun,
and storm. Such tales are forever bottled.

The mouth is the gateway to everything,
including the elegies yet to sing.

—–

Raymond Luczak is the author and editor of 22 books, including Flannelwood (Red Hen Press) and Lovejets: Queer Male Poets on 200 Years of Walt Whitman (Squares & Rebels). He recently appeared in Poetry and We Are Not Your Metaphor: A Disability Poetry Anthology (Squares & Rebels). A ten-time Pushcart Prize nominee, he lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota and online at raymondluczak.com.