throwing away what’s lost

owning a skiff
means washing the hull
with long scrapes that only a
sea soaked body could take
and when she's shining
i paint her against and across and against the grain

(stand there, stranger, let me stretch out of that empty tub
let me feel the air beneath me)

i let her dry
and watch her beneath my feet
i've climbed on board and she stands taller
raised two feet from the ground
the deck is ten above the dirt
and she begs me down

(you'll break my back but i won't be the first to die
you watch the horizon, i'll look by the sea)

i run my fingernail down her brass
that got dirty from the mackerel nets
i swung once, twice this morning
round over there
where you can't see from here
where the land is so far
i feel live we've been lost

(carve that chest down to the quick and you'll see
true revelers call god with feet on firm ground)

sometimes i say i left my wife for this boat
sometimes i can only catch enough to feed me
and never enough to bring ashore and sell
but today i bought some avocados and some salt
and when i eat them with snapper
i save the salt for dessert
leaves my mouth bitter and dry

(throw it overboard, throw it port side for good luck
to forget the days you've lost)