L.S. Asekoff
DARK TARGETS
What will ferry us across the swart seasons?
That little packet boat with orange stacks–
Smudge on our horizon?
Dioramas of the day announce lilac coast, ashen sea,
City of camellias
&
the dovecote stars.
Overhead, muffled voices circle our sleep
Awaiting the final signal to descend.
Friend, the indifferent ey<,;
Choosing to paint the hand that paints
Hazards all.
From the far west wall
A drowsy sailor hoists this pale flag.
