by Eric Pankey
Beyond the traceries of the auroras,
The fires of tattered1 sea foam2,
The ghost-terrain of submerged icebergs3;
Beyond a cinder4 dome's black sands,
Beyond peninsula and archipelago,
Archipelago and far-flung islands,
You have made of exile a homeland,
Voyager, and of that chosen depth, a repose5.
The eel6 shimmers7 and the dogfish darts8,
A dance of crisscrosses and trespasses9
Through distillate glints and nacreous silts10,
And the sun, like fronds11 of royal palm
Wind-torn, tossed, lashes12 upon the wake,
But no lamplight mars or bleaches13 your realm,
A dark of sediment14, spawn15, slough16, and lees,
Runoff, pitch-black, from the rivers of Psalms17.