Passage

i need a ship
with sails that bellow
to the thunder,
to the Western wind

i need a spear,
an ice cold hard blade,
to melt the flesh
of tigers and ogres

i need water
where to weep
my place among
the ferns and the causeways

i need a belly
to steep me
warm, and to hold me
when I falter

i need wings,
the kind I'm used to
seeing in dark corners
just before i look away.

so i'll bring a blanket
and a basket
where you can lie down,
and i can rustle

and we'll beat
like heavy hedgerows,
in November
when the rain is coming down.

we'll pull the splinter,
i'll write a letter
of a future year,
saying:
come into the greenness,
come see soreness
take off her crown.