POET TWO
He stands at the edge of a cliff
deep eyes scan the horizon
like a submarine periscope
he’s a deep sea diver exploring
the bowels of the ocean
the sun beats down on him
a cool breeze wipes the sweat
from his brow
he is the captain of a ghost ship
lost sailors sing his battle hymn
children run their fingers thru his hair
old women make him ice tea
he’s as old as Buddha
an explorer without a ship
skin brown as dirt
blood thick as bread crust
gentle currents swirl around him
the sea invites him in
warm as a woman’s thighs
on a cold winter night
he talks to tigers
at the zoo
hummingbird’s nest
inside his head
where words give birth
like a woman squeezes life
from the fruit of her womb