Marooning the Muse

We sat at the beach together

but I didn’t write a thing.

I looked to the horizon

and its meeting of sky and sea

and the cerulean they both shared

at the point where we see

the world is round indeed.

You wrote of sandpipers

on the strand and the seagulls

encircling the trawler

traversing the harbour,

and I left you the metaphors

to find while I was lost in a reverie

that had Magellan meeting

Eratosthenes

on the edge of a precipice,

saying yes, it’s all an illusion,

this vortex of birds and their fish,

this looping of ships and our poems.

Andreas Gripp

Andreas Gripp