In Plague Times (Auster Winds)
The country moves with the southern wind. If a lake
lies to the south, the wind draws frogs and grasshoppers
from the water. You must rest your pen and strain egg
whites on your map. When the world dries, scrape and revise.
Antony Knivet’s Notes on Simian Life in the Southern New World 1592
The howling monkeys do not eat or drink. They live
off the air and roar like a thousand tortured zebras.
The map I draw has no scythe or bones – Death
treads water off the coast of Chile with wax in his ears.
Ice Storms (Boreas Winds)
When the forest sags like melted wax,
go to the printing room and cover
the plates with dung and straw. The world’s second
edition will thaw similar enough.
Jacob’s Cross
A tool used to measure the height of the sun to determine latitude
Hold it like Captain Ahab would steady a rifle
aiming to shoot down the sun. If you lack confidence,
your sighting eye will go blind like every atheist
who’s sailing lost below the equator and cursing.
A Lizard Log
Since the moon changed, we have seen neither horizon
nor sun and have scarce a thing to burn. The alarm
clock rings each hour – reminding me of my gout.
We have entered an immeasurable ocean.
Then from the Deck
The crew hands released the ropes. Were we looking up to them,
we’d have felt the hurriedness of abandonment, the quick
scaling of size. Looking down instead, we fostered our sense
of scale. Our raft cut the sea, and we felt something colder.