Equidistance

“It’s the best thing I’ve found in 31 years of diving: the spot 

where a centuries-old shipwreck lay hidden under the water 

for more than 200 years.” —Maurice Belgrave

 

You can tell, the violence that keeps a boat afloat

has nothing to do with fuel.

your paddle of a hand worrying the hostile tide,

before taking the storm in one scoop.

 

the vessel—still, belly ovoid & sunken

till it leaks its way towards destruction.

 

kayaks cost an arm, to keep it well behaved 

in that polite wind.

 

you can tell apart risk taking from its caretaker.

the way the second combines craftsmanship & luck,

rowing accident to acceleration—where

speed = Distance + the number of times the boat topples:

 

these twelve seethed capsize, like disciples in a water

Christ has been commanding stillness into.

A river is God’s brightest trap.

 

you can tell, the way it mirrors wreckage & warmth,

consumes fluently a loin that torches,

sneaking luminescence into sullen deprived hands.

 

the footage cut short, 

because a staff in some broken state said so.

& even the most damned thing deserves some privacy.

 

cupping a handful from the ruptured boat;

as if summoning a life evidence.

It’s the best thing I’ve found in my 31 years

the journalist said to his colleagues.

 

and in the airshots of the staff, blurted

“how measurable is the wreck.”