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Oceanographer
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Fists
I got fists when I wanted graceful hands.
Feet that slip when I wanted to dance.
Clumsy lips fumbling for the chance
to enchant, when they can't.
I'm a man: two eyes, a nose and ears,
trembling hands, bandages and fears,
brittle plans that seem to disappear
into thin, thin air.
Lately I've been fire-winged, a streak of smoke on air
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tumbling down, a shattering crown.
Fingers pointing, jaw-dropped all gathered in the square
to watch with intent my final descent.
I got fists when I wanted graceful hands.
Feet that slip when I wanted to dance.
Clumsy lips fumbling for the chance
to enchant, when they can't.
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