I, Abalone

This poem is a reject from a recent competition.

Time is the longest distance between two places.
—Tennessee Williams

Like the Elephant Hawk Moth,
I shrink, in pieces, across concrete.

A slow waxing threatens to gut
the unviable cradle we have made.

Where do we get off? How do
people navigate runaway ships?

Do they wrangle for the wheel,
or do they watch slack-jawed as

the bow heads for the stars? Maybe,
hanging seasick off the side is what

pulls the tide closer to magnetism,
to the salmon tone of suspension.

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