Chantey

the thoughts that restrain us
encircle and chain us
to anchors we haven’t
a hope’s shade to nudge

what can i offer
an empty-eyed scoffer
too weak to hold
anything but a grudge

when faith finds a fool
every kindness is cruel
i taste my own blood
on the seam of her lips

one holy breath
held in one living death
one broken oar
cast from all the tall ships

a coarse little prayer
limps through the still air
in darkness that knows
neither moon nor a star

an echo returns
a whisper that burns
a promise of something
that’s massive and far

with each passing day
i drift further away
from what is remembered
by only my bones

yet i’ll scull to know it
until I’m below it,
dressed for a wedding
in a garden of stones