February 3, 2012

"La Sirene" by Geoffrey Philp

Whenever her song from the first time
I rowed to where the horizon was as wide

as my despair, rises with bubbles that froth
the tips of the surf and lap the sides of my boat,

I feel like flinging my body beyond the luminous
fish that glide away from the light (such beauty

I know I will never possess) desperate
as her pleas, the promise of wholeness

beneath the waves that knot my tangled
lines in the roots of her hair. But the scent

from star-apple stormed valleys
that ache with the strain of desire

and cripple, like my love,
anchors me to that distant shore.

Graphic: Christina Philp

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