[When I was a shipwright, the sea]

Gregg Murray

was a slow slaughterhouse. I learned the deliberate assault of the imperceptible 
wave on structural integrity. The cut  and dive of a weakened hull. The haul. 
God irked: a gray and puzzling mania.  God bored: a lone craft nuzzling the still  horizon. But hammer the bolts yourself.  Hold a wrench. Test the lag. Only then
can you sense the sag, even as the shimmer 
sinks you into tears of joy. Oh, I did love 
you, I did, those years we were falling 
apart.