Coleridge’s second dream
At the wedding all dead sailors
takes the ear of each guest.
All their boats are silent.
All their treasures gone.
Their mouths close only
on water; open to suck
on the rustle of wishes
each guest tides to the couple.
The holes of their eyes broken open,
they clack their bones at each jig.
They’re here to blanch the marriage,
leach the booty in their turn.
All the guests muse on them
stooped towards darkness.
But the couple, the couple
will sail tomorrow, and swim.
‘Gift’ anthology, Gatehouse press, December 2007
